


Need The Sun To Break

by purpledaisy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Movie Based AU, Sexual Content, alternative universe, mentioned minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpledaisy/pseuds/purpledaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think, he has, uh,” Louis purses his lips and looks between Zayn and the window, “like, a Harry Styles look?”</p><p>“Harry Styles? Little bookstore Harry Styles?” Zayn tries not to look at Louis like he’s lost his mind.</p><p>He nods, “I mean, you think he’s pretty attractive right?”</p><p>“Well, yeah, I told you that. But that doesn’t really matter right now, dude.”</p><p>“Um, yeah, well. Actually, it does.” Louis looks back over towards him slowly, “Because it is Harry Styles.”</p><p>Zayn doesn’t even speak just trips over his feet scrambling up the steps to press his face against the window next to Louis.<br/>-<br/>A "You've Got Mail" AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need The Sun To Break

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "You've Got Mail" (1998), including all of the locations except the ones that are completely fake.  
> Title: "Need The Sun To Break" by: James Bay

A cat is wailing in the apartment next to him or something terrible is happening—Harry is almost sure as he jolts awake. It takes him only a second more to process that the wailing sound echoing through the wall next to his bed is not, in fact, a cat but his neighbors yelling at each other. Again.

He peeks one eye open to squint at the clock on his bedside table. It’s just before seven so he burrows back under his duvet to squeeze out a few more minutes of sleep. He’s positive it’s only been thirty seconds before he hears, “God dammit, Christine, you fucked him again, you bitch,” followed by something being thrown at the wall repeatedly.

He wishes he didn’t know what it is that's hitting the wall but, unfortunately, this is not the first time. Evidently, Christine has made a habit out of sleeping with her roommate’s ex-boyfriend, which causes the roommate to forcefully chuck shoes at Harry’s wall.

The screaming intensifies as he mournfully watches his last three minutes of sleep tick away until his alarm starts going off obnoxiously in his ear. He rubs his hands over his face, waiting for his brain to wake up fully.

When it does he feels a spasm of anticipation in his stomach. He counts backwards from ten before tearing out of his bed and running into the main room of his apartment, hissing as the cold morning air hits his shoulders and back. February mornings in New York City are no joke especially when he has resigned himself to only running the heat if it seriously snows.

Harry grabs his computer from the couch and sprints the short distance back to his bed jumping under the covers. He pulls the duvet up over his shoulders, resting the computer in his lap, opening it and running his fingers over the keyboard until it starts to wake up. His fingers thrum an impatient rhythm against the sides of his thighs as he waits for the computer to turn on fully.

It’s his PC from college and slow as anything most days. Someday he’ll buy a new computer but it’ll be a different day than when he’s desperately trying to pay the outrageous rent for his studio apartment. At this point, it’s a wet dream to have a computer that will run for longer than an hour without being plugged into the charger all of the time and doesn’t heat up like a stovetop each time he uses it.

He’s not thinking about a new computer, right now, though. He’s focused on the familiar fluttering of butterfly wings in his stomach as he pulls up his e-mail. His fingers slide against the tracking pad as he clicks the refresh button a few more times than is necessary. The fluttering intensifies as the hourglass icon flips on his screen, the new messages loading. When the icon disappears he sees he has fourteen new messages, each one bolded in his inbox.

He can feel his heart beating in his ears as he scans over each one, forgetting to take a breath with each passing scam, newsletter, and advertisement.

Then, near the bottom, he sees it.

Sent well past midnight the night before—a message from NYAZ112. A message he’s come to count on every morning for the last month. Harry grins as he clicks on it, dropping his hands in his lap as he reads, fingers curling around the hem of the sheets.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_You don’t have any pets? I totally pegged you for the kind of guy who would own a zoo. Actually, on second thought, maybe not. My ex-boyfriend’s family owned a petting zoo, and it was completely nuts (he was too but that’s a different story)._

_I don’t have any pets yet but I want to get a cat soon. I’m planning to name her Poison Ivy, like from Batman. Either that or Harley Quinn, also a Batman super-villainess. Go ahead and judge my nerd status but my cat is going to be a badass._

++

Eight blocks away, on the top floor of an apartment complex three times the rent any normal twenty-six year old should be able to pay, Zayn wavers in and out of sleep to the increasingly loud groaning sounds from best friend and professional pain in the ass, Louis.

“I’m dead. This is it. This is the end,” he announces from somewhere near Zayn’s closet.

Zayn rolls so his face is pressed down against his pillow.

“Are you ignoring me on my death bed?” Louis voice is closer now. “Actually, not even death bed because you made me sleep on the fuckin’ floor.”

Zayn grins against his pillow at the memory of pushing a too drunk Louis onto the ground and climbing over him to get in his bed. He turns his face towards Louis but keeps his eyes closed.

“Remember when you puked in my sheets?”

“Freshman year of college,” Louis groans. Now he’s heaving himself onto Zayn’s bed, lying across his feet.

“Yeah, well, memories like cleaning up puke never fade, dude.”

“You’re so rude.”

“And your life is so hard.” Zayn kicks up one of his feet and hits Louis somewhere around his middle sending him rolling off the edge of the bed and landing back on the ground with a satisfying thump.

Louis is a trust fund baby to the tee. He gets too drunk on Tuesday nights and shows up at Zayn’s door while living off the spectacular wealth of his parent’s tech company. Zayn is almost sure he’s never struggled a day in his life—save for the hangovers he gets on Wednesday mornings. He does do finance work for the company when he feels like it so he’s not an _entire_ waste of space just an entitled one. He’s been one of Zayn’s best friends for more years than he can count despite them arguing with each other more often than not.

Zayn knows he isn’t hurting for money either and he’ll never be one to complain. He’s been helping with his family’s business since he was a kid, groomed from the time he could talk to be an integral part of it. College graduation was met with a spot on the executive board of Malik’s Books and control over the retail sector. As grandson of the founder and son of the current CEO Zayn could probably get away with getting hammered on a Tuesday too, though he usually leaves that up to Louis.

“I have to get ready for work, so,” Zayn says rolling onto his back. He runs his hand over his jaw—the beginnings of a beard he’ll have to shave before he leaves this morning.

“Kicking me out, Malik?” Louis stands up off the floor, shirt wrinkled, and hair sticking up in every direction. Zayn gives him a smile and closes his eyes again.

Louis mumbles about his hangover and a conference call as he grabs his shoes off of the floor. He hits Zayn’s leg as he walks past the bed again and tells him to get the fuck up before he goes out into the hallway. Zayn listens for front door to swing shut, relaxing as soon as it does.

He waits a beat after the thud, letting the echo settle in the apartment. He twists and leans over the edge of his bed, blindly feeling for his iPad before grabbing it and settling back on his pillows. He opens the Mail app as he pulls up his knees to rest the device on his thighs. He drags his fingers down the screen and when he lets go his eyes are transfixed on the spinning wheel waiting for his messages to load.

He pulls at his earrings, a nervous tick he has yet to beat, until the screen loads fully.

One new message from BookCat94. He smiles as he presses his finger to the screen to open it.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I like how our messages start without a greeting. It makes me feel like we’ve known each other for ages and we’re picking up a conversation where we left off at the bagel shop, the park, wherever. Most of the time it doesn’t feel like I met you in a chat room about garbage disposals, which is probably a good thing. I guess we have your broken shot glass and my mangled fork to thank the most for this whole thing, huh?_

_I don’t know what it is exactly but these messages always make me smile at my computer like an idiot. It doesn’t matter if my neighbors are yelling at each other (screaming, more like) or the guy who stands outside my window is still yelling and offering strangers blowjobs. All I can focus on is the sound of my heartbeat echoing in my ears as I wait for my e-mail to load. It's hard to remember the last time I got so excited over something as little as an e-mail. Ridiculous? Oh, I know._

++

There’s something about New York that Harry has loved since he was a kid.

Maybe because it’s where he’s grown up so he has a soft spot for things that make outsiders lose their mind. Honking horns and drivers screeching at each other is just another soundtrack in the city to him. Same as the kid dragging his feet and bawling as his dad tries to get him through the door of the preschool and the clicking of heels as women walk past him in their fancy business suits.

He walks thirteen blocks to work each morning in the city that never seems to change except with the seasons. He navigates through the small businesses that define the Upper West Side seeing the same familiar faces each day since he moved into his apartment three years ago.

He likes the walk, really; The smell of coffee and pastries from the bakeries on, seemingly, every other corner; the busy chatter of owners opening their shops, organizing their shipments along the sidewalk. If he tries hard enough, he can hardly detect the undertone of piss that some corners seem to permanently maintain.

He cuts up through the small park near Broadway to get to 69th though most of the flowers and plants have been frozen completely at this point in the year. There’s always a few squirrels dodging across the path especially after the worst storms have already passed through.

He crosses the street from the park to the corner where his store is and catches a glimpse of himself in the window of a car parked along the curb. He sees his reflection full on grinning and he tries to tone it down, stepping up onto the sidewalk in front of the most familiar shop on the block, at least to him. The one he’s been coming to since before he could walk, the one he now owns.

Harry still has to get down on his knees to unlock the iron gate the way his mom showed him when he was five. The trick is to pull the key hard to the left, swing it slightly back to the right and then twist it fully. He does the same maneuver this morning and the lock pops with a click so he can lift the gate, pushing it into its cubby above the glass windows and door.

He lets his fingers run over the sign on the front window, the one his mom hand-painted when her mom first opened the store, Cheshire Cat Books. He uses a second set of keys to open the front door, welcomed by the familiar jingle of the bell overhead, as it swings shut behind him. He turns on the lights near the front, illuminating the shelves of children’s books and the table of stuffed animals made in likeness to different literary characters. Adjusts a few pillows in the reading corner when he walks past and grabs a stack of books that need to be returned to the shelves as he makes his way to the cash register.

Cheshire Cat Books has been in his family for longer than he’s been alive, and though he wasn’t supposed to be running it alone by twenty-five, he’s learned there are just some plans life doesn’t account for.

He’s turning on the computer to print out the opening sales report when Niall comes through the front door.

“Morning, Harry,” he says pushing his blonde hair from his face before rubbing his hands together to warm up.

“Hey, man.” Harry grins when he looks up, sticking a pencil behind his ear and leaning against the counter.

“What are you grinning about?” He asks as he knocks over the new display of _Madeline_ dolls. He leans down to pick them up, cursing under his breath.

“What? Am I not aloud to grin?” Harry laughs, tapping at the computer screen, which feels like it’s even slower than his laptop at home.

When he asked Gemma, older sister and Cheshire Cat Books finance guru, if they had room in the budget to get a new system she yelled at him about things like interest rates, declining sales and taxes until his eyes crossed at all of the numbers. She followed her rant up by recommending a new juice cleanse she found in LA. She used to say she’d never leave New York but it was another one of those plans life just doesn’t account for.

“You’re not allowed to look like you ate rainbows instead of cereal for breakfast.” Niall sets up the last doll on the table, “It’s disrespectful to normal humans who hate mornings.”

“You can’t hate New York City, Niall. It’s impossible.”

“Wanna bet?” He raises his eyebrows setting his backpack on the counter and leaning in towards Harry to look closer at his face. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong with you? Your cheeks are pink. Are you sick?”

Harry tries to look serious but bursts out laughing instead. He throws his hand over his mouth like he’s trying to keep it in. “Is being happy a sickness now?”

“Depends. Right now, you’re freaking me out. Are you in love?” He wiggles his eyebrows at the word _love_ and leans back to shimmy his shoulders.

“Oh my god, no. Of course not.” He rolls his eyes. He’s not _in love_ because being in or falling love with someone he doesn’t even know would not be healthy or sane or okay. And if he has to repeat that to himself every time he checks his e-mail, well.

Niall stares dubiously at Harry and he has the distinct feeling he already knows there’s more to the story. He grabs his bag as he comes behind the counter.

Harry met Niall his sophomore year of college in what Niall likes to call “best friends at first sight”. When Harry had to take over the bookstore after graduation, Niall agreed to help him. He handles the numbers if Gemma’s too busy fucking around in LA and he does the order processing Harry gets too frustrated by.

“Okay, actually, question,” Harry crosses his arms over his chest and rests his hip against the counter. “What’s your stance on online relationships?”

Niall shoves his bag underneath the counter and squints up at Harry, “Are you on fuckin’ Grindr again?”

“What? No. Well, not anymore.”

“Good because that never works. Remember Lucas? Thank god that’s over.”

“I’d rather not think about it,” Harry winces at the name, a chapter in his life he’d rather not rehash.

“Fuckin’ Lucas. Man, I didn’t like him. Do you remember when he didn’t realize you were breaking up with him?” He cackles loudly, still enjoying the old memory. It was around that time when Harry realized he doesn’t do confrontation very well. He tried to break up with the guy three times unsuccessfully before Niall finally stepped in and told him, quite blatantly, to leave Harry the fuck alone.

“Alright, no Grindr. What kind of online relationship?” Niall asks.

“I, like, met this guy in a chat room.”

“Chat room? Damn, I didn’t even know those still existed.”

“They do. Or this one does. But it’s just, like, a friendly thing. Meaningless, casual conversations on the internet so it’s nothing weird. We actually met trying to figure out how to fix our garbage disposals.”

“Uh, okay.” Niall tilts his head just slightly, “Are you convincing me it’s not a big deal or yourself?”

“I don’t know.” Harry pulls at his bottom lip. Most of the time he doesn’t worry about how much he likes talking to NYAZ112. And then, there are days where the messages make him so happy he starts to wonder if, maybe, there’s something wrong with him.

“Are you planning to meet him?”

“I don’t think so, no.” The thought hadn’t even crossed Harry’s mind, though he knows NYAZ112 lives and works in the city. They’ve agreed to keep almost all other personal details to themselves.

“Have you had cyber sex? Cause that’s not friendly or casual.”

Harry’s cheeks flush and Niall grins. “How would we even—no, nothing like that. Like, we’re literally just friends. If you even call it that. I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”

“Alright, alright, I trust you.” Niall puts his hands up. “You’re still radiating happiness right now, which is freaking me out a little bit, honestly.”

“You’re the happiest person I know, you hypocrite.” Harry opens today’s inventory report with an eye roll.

“Yeah but it doesn’t kick in until at least eleven. It’s only nine and you’re shitting fairy dust.”

“Poo-poo please, Niall,” Harry shakes his head in mock disgust without looking away from the screen. “We’re in a children’s book store.”

“We were talking about cyber sex less than a minute ago, Harry.”

Before Harry can respond the front door opens again and a woman with her blonde hair in a tight bun and a bright red jacket rushes in.

“Hi, Mrs. Jones,” Harry says as Niall heads to the backroom, “You okay?”

“Harry, babe. Jillian was supposed to bring a book to class today and I’m the idiot mom who forgot to bring one from home so I told her I would run over to you and see if you have any. She wants one about a princess and—“

“Actually,” Harry walks around the counter to meet her on the sales floor, “we just got this new one in the other day.” He grabs it off the front table and hands it to her. “It’s about a superhero who disguises herself as a princess and I know Jillian is all about Cat Woman at the moment.”

“You’re an actual angel, Harry.” She shakes her head flipping through the book and then smiling at him fondly.

“Just doing my job.” He grins and turns back towards the cash register to ring her up.

Niall says Harry sells half the books in the store to moms who are in love with him. Harry won’t discount his looks but he knows he has the same charm with people his mom had. She used to tell him her number one sales rule was to make everyone who came in feel like family and at the very least a close friend.

++

“Here, put this on.”

Zayn takes the hard hat from his dad and rolls his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really, Zayn. Your mom will kill me if you walk around a construction site without a hat.”

He puts it on even though he knows it’s going to royally fuck with his hair. He can already hear his mom yelling at him if he gets his head bashed in while surveying the site.

“Over there will be the bistro,” his dad points to the far corner where the first makings of a kitchen are showing up. “We’ll have it so anyone can bring in their books and read without buying. Right over there,” he points towards the front corner where shelves are being installed, “We’re doing the New York City section which, we, of course, owe to you.”

He reaches over to squeeze Zayn’s shoulder as he leads him across the space, dodging workers and stray wires hanging from the ceiling and boards being lifted into place.

The New York City section had been Zayn’s idea for this particular location, rather than an ordinary travel section. He wanted to have one section for maps and history books but with romances and murder mysteries set in the city too. The whole experience in one section complete with a mural of the city he’s been working to paint over the last couple of months.

He’d mentioned the idea one night when he was at his parent’s house for dinner and his dad smiled so big Zayn thought his face was going to split in two. It wasn’t a revolutionary idea by any means but his interest in the family business was enough to send his dad over the moon. As the only one of his siblings actually interested in Malik’s Books, Zayn is all but locked into the company for life. He has cousins on the board of directors with him but he knows his dad wants it to stay in his direct line. Meanwhile, his mom is terrified they’ve put too much pressure on Zayn so she’s as happy as his dad when he actively participates in planning.

He listens vaguely as his dad talks timelines for a few other sections and points out the skylights being installed. The store is being put together at record speed as per usual. This is the seventh location Zayn has personally helped oversee since graduation four years ago, though he doesn’t get the same excitement looking at a bare wooden structure as his dad does.

“Broadway Books announced they’re closing this morning.” Zayn pulls himself from his thoughts to look over at his dad who is smiling at him. “Heard we were coming in and sold their shares before they lost profit.”

“Awesome,” Zayn deadpans and holds his thumb up.

“Be excited, Zayn. Part of successful business is taking out the little guys sometimes.”

“Right. And making people lose their jobs and their business, got it.”

“You’ve got to have a hard heart sometimes, kid.”

“So I’ve heard,” Zayn sighs and adjusts the collar of his shirt. He dresses professionally on site but it doesn’t mean he feels comfortable with his tattoos covered up and a shirt all but choking him. “How many more little book stores are you planning to ruin?”

“First of all, it’s not ruining.” His dad says it like he’s said it a hundred times before (and he has). “We offer each closing store’s employees the opportunity to apply at our stores. You know this, Zayn.”

“Opportunity to apply.” Zayn lifts his hands to add air quotes with his fingers; it’s not the same as a job.

“And there’s only one other one right now,” his dad plows on pointedly ignoring Zayn’s disdain. Zayn knows he’s not a malicious man but his dad’s favorite slogan _it’s not personal, it's business_ makes Zayn’s lip curl. “It’s one called, uh, Cheshire Cat Books, I believe. A little family owned business, not a threat per se but still on our radar for being specialized.”

“You’re going to run a family out of town?”

“No, the original owner’s granddaughter owns it now, I think. I’m sure she’ll be happy to have someone take it off of her hands.”

Zayn nods before he says something he’ll regret. His dad has always been one to facilitate open conversations but Zayn, and his “soft heart”, tends to disagree with just about every aspect of business.

He knows the reason he was able to go to an Ivy League school and buy an apartment at the top of a building in the heart of the city is all because of the money made by taking out the little guys. He’s not oblivious. So, even when he doesn’t agree, he settles with the fact it’s just part of his life as Zayn Malik. Something he can’t quite control which, as the guy who always has a plan, drives him nuts.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I was thinking about you today when I was in Starbucks. Nothing in particular just how much you hate it. I finally got what you meant, though. It really is just overpriced coffee with long complicated names just to make you feel like you belong somewhere by buying it. Please send help—I’m using coffee to pretend I fit in._

_How was your day? I kind of like how we don’t know that much (anything, really) about each other. I know you have an older sister, you want to swim in every ocean (you’re nuts, btw), you’re from here, and you hate numbers and, evidently, you stick forks down your garbage disposal but I have no idea how you spend your day to day life. You might be a professional skydiver and I would never know. If that is your job, please be careful. I don’t want to have to worry about you falling out planes._

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I’m far too clumsy to be a skydiver, trust me. If you ever hear someone has tripped out of a plane and been speared by the Empire State building, it was probably me._

_My day was pretty good. I ate lunch in the park by where I work. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy for being outside, though._

_There was one little squirrel that perched on the back of the bench and I fed him (or her?) pieces of my sandwich. I decided to name him Chuck and though I may never see him again, I imagine he’s had a lovely day too, wherever he may be. He left in a hurry and I had a whole plot in my head about him being late for a dentist appointment across town or something. So, send help to me too—I’ve started writing narratives for animals._

++

It’s exactly a week later when Harry is walking to work that he sees it. In big block letters on a banner hanging on side of a building under construction two blocks from his store: COMING SOON: MALIK’S BOOKS. He’s heard rumors of the corporate giant moving into the Upper West Side but he had no idea just how close they were coming.

He stands with his hands in his pockets, watching the workers roll up the tarp underfoot and taking away the ladders they’d used to paint the sign. Something about it makes his stomach feel heavy as he turns to continue his walk. It starts to rain less than ten seconds later and it feels like a bad omen—he’s too scared to think about why.

When Niall comes in the store that morning he doesn’t bother with a greeting just thrusts his phone at Harry’s face.

“What, what?” Harry jerks his head back trying to see the screen that is so close to his eyeballs it’s gone blurry.

“ _Going out of business,”_ Niall takes his phone back and reads from the screen, “ _Sixty-five percent off all merchandise. Broadway Books has had a wonderful thirty years on the Upper West Side but as times change, we must too_.”

“They’re closing?” Harry grips the edge of the counter, trying to keep his voice even and pastes on a smile when Chloe, one of his employees, passes by with a new shipment of Dr. Seuss books.

“They’re closing,” Niall confirms clicking the lock button on his phone as the screen goes black. He walks away muttering about corporate bullshit and Harry nods in agreement.

At lunch he locks himself in the back room to call Gemma and get her take on Malik’s Book closing in. She just says she’ll run some numbers and then there’s a lot of laughing in the background when she hangs up.

She was supposed to be the one in charge of the store after their mom died five years ago leaving Harry and Gemma as the sole proprietors. She did it for two years while Harry finished at NYU and then she said she just couldn’t handle it. Harry has never been one to let anyone down so he promised he’d take it on. He just didn’t expect her to move all the way across the country two weeks later.

-

When Harry gets home that night, he does the same things as always. He makes chicken and rice while he watches the news. Then, he stares at a blank document that he’s convinced himself will be a book one day even though he doesn’t particularly enjoy writing. Gemma tells him it’s the curse of having a degree in English—he’s got himself convinced he has to be an author.

After, he curls up on the couch to watch old Law & Order reruns, consistently battling with the volume of the TV versus the girls next door yelling at each other again.

It’s not the life he expected to have, not really. But he’s happy, he is. Even if he still has to remind himself sometimes.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I live a pretty simple life. You know, a job I love, close friends who feel like family and an apartment in a good part of town—the basics. Sometimes, though, I wonder if I’ve settled. If I do things because they’re comfortable instead of doing the things that scare me (I’m not going skydiving, though. Don’t even ask.)._

_I don’t think I want you to tell me what I should do or if I should do anything at all. I kind of just want to send this out into space and let it fly around. It seems like it’s easier than to say it out loud, if that makes sense. Even if it doesn’t, agree with me this one time. I could use it._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes I feel like my whole life has been organized right in front of me and I’m just going through the motions of it now._

_For the record, you can send me any of the things you don’t want to say out loud. I promise I’ll listen. Or read them. Or whatever this is._

_Maybe this is why we met (loose use of the word, ha) just to be able to have someone to send all of our nothings to. As for skydiving, I wouldn’t ever tell you to do it...not when I wouldn’t be caught dead jumping out of a plane either._

++

Zayn is contemplating what to do on a rare empty Saturday over a bowl of Cheerios when his older sister calls him instead. She says she _desperately_ needs to work on her blog and _desperately_ needs him to take her two kids for the day.

He acts like he’s debating whether or not to do it when he and Doniya both know he won’t say _no_. Uncle Zayn is the shit in their family and he isn’t about to let his good reputation go to waste by sending the kids to hang out with their dad in the office all day. Especially when he can hear them chanting “Zaynie! Zaynie!” in the background of the call.

“Please, please, please, Zayn. There’s a carnival you can take them to and they like to go to story time at a bookstore over on that side. Plus, you haven’t seen them in at least a week and if you really want Azyan to grow up without you even noticing...” she trails off with the implication resting heavy in her tone.

“Oh are you guilt tripping me now?” He laughs even as he pulls on his black jeans and searches for a hoodie.

“I mean, I can put Zara on the phone and have her ask you if you need that extra motivation.” He can hear the smile in her voice knowing the power her five-year-old daughter has over Zayn.

“Tell her I’ll meet you at the park in fifteen,” he says after a sigh dramatic enough to add some suspense to his decision.

“We’ll be there and we love you,” she says. The kids start squealing louder as he disconnects the call.

-

As promised he meets them on the bench in the park between their two apartments near 69th. The kids see him before Doniya does and they take off running as she yells from behind them about stranger danger and being respectful.

Zara gets to him first jumping in his arms and knocking the wind out of him. Azyan reaches him a second later grabbing for his hand and jumping up and down. He’s only three and comes off as the shy one. Of course, once he starts talking he doesn’t really stop which Doniya always says reminds her of Zayn.

With the promise of staying safe, Doniya rushes off but not before she smears lipstick on each of their cheeks with a smacking kiss.

“I was thinking we could go to a museum,” Zayn says with a grin once she’s gone. Azyan shakes his head no with fear in his eyes.

“Can we go to the carnival, please, please?” Zara squeezes his hand. Zayn can’t even keep his own joke going when he looks down into the little girl’s dark eyes. He’s so fucked for when he has kids of his own.

“Yeah, I was kidding. Let’s go, babes.” He sets Zara on the ground and she runs off just ahead of them while Azyan clings to his hand and starts telling him about the walk to the park and all of the elephants he saw in the grocery store.

“Elephants?” Zayn raises his eyebrows, “Did they have names?”

“Yeah,” he says shrugging his little shoulders before naming off every person in their family with a few TV show characters for added excitement.

The carnival in the park is a grand affair for a Saturday in March with enough rides and games to send the kids into a tailspin. Zayn buys them cotton candy that stains their mouths blue and lets them get their faces painted though Zara gets her arm painted instead. He’s sure Doniya will smack him for letting her do it but, then again, the way Zara wiggles in excitement at her paint matching Zayn’s ink makes him think it might be worth it. Azyan gets his face done like a cat and both of them convince Zayn to let the woman draw a purple glittery butterfly on the back of his hand.

He takes them on a few of the rides until Zara announces she’s going to throw up if they go on _any_ more. They play a ring toss game and a racing game, take pictures with a couple of clowns walking around and then he sends them down one of those bright pink fun-slides that terrifies him but happens to be their favorite.

By the time the kids are done, he’s the only one utterly exhausted. The cotton candy has done wonders for their energy levels as they jump up and down all around him.

“What do you guys want to do now?” He glances at his watch and figures they still have a couple of hours to kill, although sugar-high kids would be a great present to Doniya for the rest of the afternoon.

“Can we go see the Storybook Prince?” Zara asks with a blue grin and Azyan starts throwing punches in the air in excitement.

“Yeah, why not? Where is he?”

“Dunno,” Zara shrugs her shoulders.

“Hm, that’s not the most helpful thing,” he says looking around the park for any sign of a prince. He gets it in the form of a wooden board announcing the Storybook Prince will be reading this afternoon with an arrow pointing across the street. “I think I found him,” Zayn points towards the sign painted in blue and yellow.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s where he is!” Zara says following his finger. “Are we too late?”

“I think it just started so we should be okay.” Zayn adjusts his hold on to the kids’ coats, his sweatshirt and the three stuffed animals they won. Technically they won them with skilled direction and coaching from him.

Grabbing Azyan’s hand, Zara starts off towards the sign. Zayn has to run to keep up with them and remind them to look both ways before they cross the road. Cool Uncle Zayn would be murdered immediately if they were crossing roads without looking.

“This place is my favorite,” Zara says as they get closer to the little bookstore with a cat painted on the window.

“Is it really?” Zayn’s mouth goes dry as he takes in the cat with the words Cheshire Cat Books painted delicately over the top of it. _Motherfucker._

“The Storybook Prince is the best,” she says pulling him through the doorway with a wide smile. Zayn briefly wonders if his dad knows how enamored his grandchildren are by the little store he’s about to put on the edge of ruin.

The floor inside is covered with kids and Zayn’s eyes automatically go over to the beloved Storybook Prince sitting in a big armchair at the front. He’s not anything like Zayn expected to see, for one. He has to be right around Zayn’s age with a golden crown over his chestnut hair nearly touching his shoulders.

Zayn helps Zara and Azyan find a space on the floor to sit, noticing how every kid’s eyes are set on the _prince_. Zayn moves to the outer edge of the room with everyone else above four feet tall to watch.

The kids bust up laughing when the guy reading the book changes his voice for each character and Zayn smirks when the guy laughs too—this big bursting laugh that makes him feel as happy as it sounds. The guy smiles when the kids laugh at him, big and open like he’s got nothing to hide. His voice is deep and slow, except when he pulls it up high to do the voice of Leonard the mouse. He doesn’t even seem bothered by the kid who announces he’s peed his pants—just directs him towards the bathroom with the boy’s mother in tow.

Even when the story is done, Zayn is still watching him as kids run up to the front and he gives them high fives or listens to whatever they tell him. By the time he stands up from the chair, it’s like a pop star is in the room. Little kids mob him as he makes his way to the back of the store talking to the parents as he goes and sliding the crown off of his head.

He’s tall, all legs, and as he turns away Zayn finds himself staring at his ass in a pair of tight black jeans until Zara starts slapping his leg and he has to avert his gaze as the tips of his ears go pink.

“Yeah, babe?”

There are kids racing around the store as they beg their parents for books and yell their goodbyes to the Storybook Prince as they leave.

“Wasn’t that cool?” She wiggles her eyebrows and Zayn wonders if she’s as star struck by the Storybook Prince as the other kids.

“Very cool. Do you guys come see him a lot?”

“Every Saturday if we can. He’s so funny, Uncle Zayn. Like, so funny.”

“I bet. Do you like the Storybook Prince, Azyan?” Zayn kneels down to his eye level setting the stuffed animals on the ground, “Do you think he’s funny too?”

He nods with his hands behind his back and Zayn reaches out to tickle him and pull him back against his chest. He smothers his nose against his warm cheek as Azyan giggles with his head thrown back.

“Should we pick up some books?” Zayn stands back up and Azyan grabs onto his leg with both arms. He’s not sure his dad would approve of giving money to the competition but they’ve never been family able to leave a bookstore empty handed.

“Can I go talk to the Storybook Prince actually? Please? Mom let’s me.” Zara tucks her lips into her mouth after she says it and Zayn just nods while trying, in vain, not to laugh.

He and Azyan head towards the animal books as Zara walks towards the cash register with her hands clasped in front of her.

Part of being Cool Uncle Zayn involves letting Azyan pile as many books as his fingers can hold into Zayn’s arms with a completely disarming grin each time he finds one he likes. When Zayn is struggling with the books and stuffed animals he redirects Azyan to finding Zara instead.

He doesn’t see Zara by the cash register but the panic in his chest doesn’t even have a chance to bloom before he spots her sitting in the corner with the Storybook Prince cross-legged at her side.

“This way, Az,” Zayn points with his head and Azyan toddles off in front of him towards the corner.

Azyan, who suddenly has no fear, winds through the tables and plops down right next to the guy before Zayn can even stop him.

“Hi, Azyan,” he says offering his hand in a high five, which Azyan doesn’t hesitate to accept. “Dr. Seuss is one of my favorite authors too,” he says looking back towards Zara and adding a book to the small pile in her lap. He glances up at Zayn and does a double take.

“Uh, wow,” he says. “Hi.”

Zayn notices just how green his eyes are with his hair is pulled back in a bun now.

“That’s my Uncle Zayn,” Zara says glancing up at him and then back at the books in her lap, “He’s the coolest.”

“Uncle Zayn, this Storybook Prince,” Azyan says getting up on his knees and pointing at the guy who has yet to take his eyes away from Zayn’s.

“Hi,” Zayn says offering a small smile. “Is Storybook Prince your real name or--?”

“Oh, yeah, no. I’m Harry most of the rest of the time,” he says standing up to his full height, a couple of inches over Zayn.

He offers his hand. Zayn takes it noticing the smattering of ink up his forearm. The guy—Harry—is wearing a paisley print shirt and he’s left the top couple of buttons undone just enough for Zayn to see a bit of ink without staring too obviously.

“Most of the rest?” Zayn asks dropping his hand, the sound of their rings clicking together as he does.

“Well, a lot of my friends call me Harold. Which is sort of dumb because my name isn’t even short for Harold. Its just Harry. And a couple of my friends call me H, which isn’t too bad,” his hands move with his words and he stops suddenly. “I’m sorry, I ramble a lot.”

“No, no, you’re good,” Zayn says. His mouth is half open as he smirks at this guy who wears a crowns and reads books to kids with ink on his skin and wide green eyes.

“Oh and Zara said she wanted to try to read some harder books, um, so I grabbed a few for her, if you don’t mind. You don’t have to buy them, if you don’t want,” he says pointing down at Zara who is suddenly scrambling to her feet.

“They’re really good books, Uncle Zayn. So if we could get them that would be _so_ cool.”

“You sound like your mom,” he laughs and winks at Harry before he can stop himself. “We can get them. Azyan is planning to buy out half of the animal book section anyways.” He holds up the stack of books in his hand.

“Here, I’ll take those,” Harry slides his arm under Zayn’s and transfers the pile. Zayn catches the fruity scent of his hair and tries to keep his face straight even though it smells like an orchard.

“Zara, are you going to help me ring these up?” He turns away and Zara runs off after him leaving Zayn standing there, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Azyan sticks close by and mutters to himself about something Zayn can’t quite hear.

Over at the counter Harry sets Zara on top and holds the scanner as she puts each book under the flashing red light. Her face is nearly glowing as she looks back at Zayn and he knows his Cool Uncle status is reserved at least for a little while longer.

There’s a blonde guy behind the counter showing Harry something in a newspaper. They have their heads pressed together looking down at it as Zayn walks up.

“It’s ridiculous,” the blonde says setting the paper down by Harry’s elbow and coming out from behind the counter to help another customer. Harry glances down at it again, the warmth gone from his features.

“Everything okay?” Zayn asks, looking back over his shoulder to see Azyan taking a _Madeline_ doll off of the table and cradling it in his arms.

There’s a moment of confusion in Harry’s face before he speaks. “Oh, no, it’s fine. There’s just this book super store going in up the street, Malik’s Books,” he points with his head to the left as he lifts the price scanner to the next book. “It’s one of those discount places, you know? Not the best thing for places like this one.”

Zayn’s breath is caught in somewhere in his throat as he nods but he’s snapped back to functioning when Zara opens her mouth, “Malik? My—“ Zayn reaches for her pulling her off the counter.

“We all love discount books but don’t shout it out,” he laughs as he sets her on the ground kneeling to her eye level. “Can you go hang out with Azyan for a second, please?” He gently nudges her towards her little brother now sitting under one of the tables.

“Kids,” Zayn says when he stands back up reaching for his wallet in his back pocket.

Harry smiles at him, slowly looking over towards Zara and Azyan out of the corner of his eye before picking up the next book.

“They’re funny,” he says, “I love when they come in because they seem to really love books, you know? I see so many families coming in with their kids glued to their phones or whatever and it’s nice to see a book family like yours.”

“You have no idea,” Zayn says with a smirk he doesn’t mean to let slip. “Do you work here full time?” He realizes how invasive it is as it comes out of his mouth but it’s too late to take it back.

“Me? You could say full time,” he grins and Zayn notices a deep dimple in his cheek. “This is my store, actually.”

“You, uh, you own it?” Zayn taps his wallet on the counter suddenly jittery. “But I thought your sister…” He trails off with the information he’s definitely not supposed to know.

“Oh, Gemma?” He raises his eyebrows, “You know her?”

“Something like that,” Zayn laughs to cover the moment, “I just thought she was, uh, you know.” He waves his hand around vaguely as he trails off.

“Well, it was my grandma’s store and then my mom ran it but she, um, she passed away a few years ago. So, Gemma took it over out of college but now it’s mine.”

Zayn nods slowly. He knows there are no words he can say to Harry besides, “I’m so sorry,” and even then it sounds stilted and tiny against such a complex loss.

“Oh, well, thanks,” Harry tugs at a stray hair in his bun and clears his throat.

“Is that her?” Zayn points at a picture on the wall behind Harry of two kids with a beautiful woman with features like Harry’s. They all have their faces painted, books on the grass all around them.

“Yeah, you could say we’re a book family too,” Harry says looking at the picture before turning back to the computer in front of him.

“She’s beautiful.”

“She really is. I started coming to the store before I remember, helping her after school. I loved watching her. She knew so much about books and could always recommend a good one. She made reading this adventure for all these kids who came in and—yeah. Even the whole Storybook Prince thing—that was all her. Princess, of course. She would read books on Saturdays and this place would just be packed with people.”

His eyes seem unfocused as a half smile forms on his face. He blinks a couple of times before looking at the screen, “Uh, so, you’re total is ninety-eight even.”

Zayn tries to control his expression over the shock at the price as he opens his wallet. This is exactly why Malik’s Books does well—selling books cheaper than their list prices. He realizes he can’t hand Harry his credit card with his last name printed on it, taking out a wad of twenties to hand him instead.

“I like your butterfly,” Harry says taking the money and Zayn remembers the paint on the back of his hand.

“Oh, shit, yeah, forgot about that.” He looks down at it, “The kids convinced me. I don’t know if you saw Zara’s arm.”

“Yeah, I was wondering what that was about,” Harry laughs, “She just wants to be like you.”

“At least she didn’t ask for these,” he touches the lips on the center of his chest where his shirt dips and immediately regrets it as Harry’s eyes drop to the spot and his lips part slightly. It feels so intimate he almost flinches under his gaze.

“I like that with the wings,” Harry hands him his change, his eyes pulling back up to meet Zayn’s. “Sorry, I like tattoos if you can’t tell, “ he moves his arm and Zayn can see a mermaid and an anchor with part of a rose covered by the sleeve of his shirt. He can’t help but wonder what else there is further up, or, alternately, further down.

“Right, well, thanks for the books,” he says as Zara and Azyan show back up next to him. “Zara, babe, can you carry these?” He hands her two stuffed animals. “Azyan, you carry this one,” he gives him the stuffed turtle, “I’ll take the books.”

“Let me know how you like Dr. Seuss, Zara,” Harry says leaning over the counter and looking at her. She promises she will and Azyan waves goodbye, his nose scrunching when Harry meows at him.

“Bye, Harry. Thanks for everything,” Zayn takes a step away from the counter and Harry smiles at him.

“Course. See you around, yeah?”

“Sure. Yeah. See you,” he says and as he turns away there’s already another little girl rushing up to the counter calling Harry’s name.

If it were anyone else, Zayn would have asked for his number. As it is, he has a feeling Harry will hate his guts sooner rather than later and would rather get hit by a truck than go on a date with him.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_Wait, so you’re telling me you won’t get in the water? Like, do you bathe? Do you have an opposition to drinking water?_

_I should tell you, when I talk about you out loud, I refer to you as my friend. Like my friend does this or he said that. Sometimes it makes me feel like I have an imaginary friend but as far as those go, you’re a good one._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_Do I bathe? DO I BATHE? Really? I’ll have you know I have great hygiene and I stay hydrated at all times unless severely hungover in which case I would rather die than eat or drink._

_I can get in the water but only up to, like, middle of my thighs before I start freaking out. There are so many unknowns about open water. A shark could literally swim up from nowhere and bite you in the ass. Like, how is that ever fun?_

_Maybe I’m not actually real. Maybe, I’m a hologram programmed into messaging you aka the coolest imaginary friend you’ve ever had._

_xx._

++

Malik’s Book’s erects an official a countdown to their store opening right under their coming soon sign. It starts at seventeen days with three exclamation points. Harry thinks the three exclamation points are a bit excessive and he feels like they’re mocking him each time he passes the store on his way to and from work. As the number gets steadily smaller there’s a knot growing ever tighter in the pit of his stomach.

He’s been trying to stay positive when he’s at the store especially because he doesn’t want to scare any of the employees. That, however, does not include Niall who he corners in the back room almost daily to get a report on sales. Nothing has changed so far but Harry knows the true impact will start the day Malik’s Books opens their doors for good.

He rambles to Niall about how Cheshire Cat Books is a specialty store and they have programming for kids and they’re a small business. Upper West Siders love to support small businesses, which, evidently, was not the case for Broadway Books but maybe they were the exception not the rule. Niall usually just levels his gaze at Harry and tells him if he doesn’t stop worrying he’s going to go prematurely bald. And, really, that only stresses Harry out more. Still, Harry scours sales reports and forecasts late into the night, cutting budgets and trying to figure out how to make things work.

The night before Malik’s Books opens, he gives himself a migraine squinting at a comparative analysis Gemma sent to him earlier in the day. He can barely understand it but it appears to say the store is shit out of luck if sales decline at all after Malik’s Books opens.

He tosses it aside when the numbers blur completely and heads out of his apartment pulling his hood up as he keeps his head down. It’s not long before he finds himself in front of his store and he reaches through the metal security gate and touches the painting on the window again. There are so many cracks in it even though he’s had it touched up again and again.

The store was everything to his mom, he knows. She always made time for Gemma and him but she let it consume every other part of her life. Harry’s sure she didn’t foresee it being in danger after being a fixture in the neighborhood for such a long time and, not for the first time, he wishes she were there to tell him what to do.

As he walks away from Cheshire Cat Books and through the park across the street he realizes how easy it is to feel alone in the city. He didn’t notice when he was little but without his mom and now without his sister it feels dark and almost desolate.

He thinks about calling Niall to hang out but remembers he had picked up a shift at the bar by his apartment. His landlord jacked his rent so he needed another job to help make ends meet. He didn’t even ask Harry for a raise. He probably crunched the numbers and realized there was no chance in hell but Harry knows there are people who would take advantage of their tight relationship—Niall just isn’t one of them.

Harry gets to the end of the park and turns around to circle back towards his apartment but not before he decides to stop for a bottle of wine. He goes to the convenience store next to the park and keeps his head down as he looks at the bottles of cheap wine. He finally settles on a too sweet white that makes most everyone he knows gag on first sip. It just happens to be his favorite.

Standing in line he debates grabbing a pack of gummy bears when he hears a voice register vaguely in his mind as familiar. He looks up to see a leather jacket and messy black hair, black boots and tight jeans. When the guy looks to the side, Harry recognizes his earrings and profile immediately.

It’s Zayn, the guy who came into his store a couple of weeks back. As soon as he’d left the store, Harry grabbed Niall and asked if he’d noticed him. He didn’t even say his name just hazel eyes with the cheekbones and the tattoos and the voice and the nose stud and the scruff before Niall cut him off.

“The guy with the kids? You really want to be a daddy at twenty-five?” Niall raised his eyebrows at him.

“They’re his niece and nephew, you idiot. But good job assuming,” Harry scoffed and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Though, if they were his kids I could probably be a good dad.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Niall said pinching the bridge of his nose and walking away.

Now, he’s standing right in front of Harry, close enough he can reach out and touch him, if he really wanted to. It’s probably not the ideal time to ask someone out while waiting in line to buy wine just before midnight but Harry can just say hello to Zayn. Or get his number.

“Zayn?” He waits for him to turn towards him and he raises his hand with a smile.

“Oh, uh, hi, there,” he says and promptly turns back around.

 _Hi there._ Harry mouths the words to himself pretending to suddenly be engrossed with the back of his wine bottle. He glances up when he hears Zayn ask for a pack of cigarettes as he tugs at his earrings.

“You look familiar,” the cashier says handing him the box. “Did you go to Gable Valley High School?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” Zayn looks over his shoulder and Harry jerks his head in the opposite direction as to not be caught staring.

“Right, right, right, you’re the Malik kid. Zayn Malik.”

Harry’s not sure what’s said next because he just hears, Malik, Malik, Malik on repeat in his head.

Zayn Malik of Malik’s Books.

It clicks slower than it should as Harry remembers reading about the nameless son of the corporate tycoon in every paper; the one overseeing the Broadway location, specifically.

Harry hadn’t expected him to be so young but it starts to make sense. The way Zayn paid in all cash that day, the way he cut off his niece when they were talking about the news article from Niall. He even said his family was a book family too. Harry’s face twists as the pieces connect; he’s never felt so betrayed by a near stranger in his life.

Zayn grabs his stuff off the counter and glances back at Harry once more with a blank face before he walks out the door.

Harry knows his jaw is dropped open as he watches him leave and his cheeks are probably pink because this is what happens to him. He doesn’t do confrontation but suddenly there are so many parts of him just wishing he could.

“Sir? Can I help you?” The cashier tilts his head at him looking bored as hell, no idea what kind of information he unknowingly pointed out.

Harry focuses back in and nods setting his bottle of wine on the counter. He pays and quickly walks out to the sidewalk. Zayn is still there, leaning against the wall taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Hey, listen,” he kicks off the wall and moves towards Harry.

“Malik’s Books, right?” Harry holds his ground facing him.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean—“

“Was that even your niece and nephew that day? Or did you just rent some kids to come see what the kid running his mom’s store looked like?”

“Dude, it’s not like that.”

“You sure? Not scoping out the competition?” He takes a step towards him, his fingers tightening almost too much around the bottle in his hand.

Zayn laughs as he exhales a breath of smoke and it’s the harshest laugh Harry’s heard, “Like your store is even a blip on our radar, man. I was just showing the kids a good time, had no idea it was yours. But good luck with it when we open.”

Harry feels his body deflate; the tense line of his shoulders loosens. He bites the inside of his cheek, sharpening his jaws as he nods.

“I-,” he wishes he could say something really rude or scathing back but his mind is firing blanks. Instead, he shakes his head and turns around to walk back up the street leaving Zayn standing there. He imagines him cackling manically but it’s silent on the street so he knows that part is just his imagination.

He decides he’s drinking the whole bottle of wine when he gets home and with each step he prays and wishes for a new e-mail in his inbox when he gets there.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_Do you ever feel like you’ve become the worst version of yourself? Like you try so hard to not be an asshole and then it all comes out at once? Someone just slightly provokes you and then you just come at them with the first thing on your mind, even if it’s terrible and rude? I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about._

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I do, actually! Is it completely weird to say I’m jealous? If I’m provoked I just get flustered and tongue-tied. My face turns red and I can’t come up with a single thing to say. Then, I spend the rest of the night thinking about what I could have said. Usually I wake up in the middle of the night with the really hard-hitting response and it’s already way too late._

_Whatever you did say, I’m sure it’s not nearly as bad as you think it was. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would be mean to people—and I like to think I’m a good judge of character._

_Do you think we should meet?_

++

Walking into Malik’s Books on opening day feels like the first day of school, a familiar mix of nervousness and excitement. Zayn has been to a few store openings but this one, in particular, is special. It’s one of the first he’s overseen where he’s actually made it back for the grand opening. Usually, he’s on to the next location, figuring out a future store manager somewhere else.

He immediately strolls over to the New York City section to look at his mural they’d hung overnight. He notices a woman taking a picture of it and it makes his heart swell in his chest.

He expected it to be a quiet first few days considering the neighborhoods opposition to the store. There was a particularly biting criticism in the _New Yorker_ this morning about the continuous rise of big businesses but there’s a steady stream of people coming through the front door, and the cashiers are talking loudly over each other as people make purchases.

His dad comes up to him with a grin on his face and wraps his arm around Zayn’s shoulder.

“Another good one,” Zayn says with a hint of a smirk. Seeing success doesn’t get old even if he doesn’t always love how it happens.

“And did you see the mural? It looks incredible.”

Zayn nods and swallows. For all the head butting he and his dad to, they tend to manage pretty well. “I think people like us.”

“I think so too. They love books and we sell them for cheap. It’s a win-win deal.” He claps his hands together spotting the architect coming through the front door and running over to him.

Zayn wanders over towards the children’s section and takes it in. It looks colder than Harry’s store. It doesn’t feel like a kid could take a book out and sit in the corner and devour it. There’s no friendly face in the corner to help anyone find their favorite author or recommend something new. He doesn’t remember the children’s section ever being a major focus for Malik’s Books in the past, at least not in any of the meetings he’s been in.

He’s not sure what level of deceit it is to not make suggestions to the board in order to make their children’s section comparable to Cheshire Cat Books but he knows he’ll stay quiet. He doesn’t need Harry to hate him anymore than he does and starting a Storybook King program right out of the gate seems like the opposite direction of reconciliation.

Zayn is still dwelling over the words he spat at Harry outside of the convenience store the night before. He’s replayed it over and over wondering why he had snapped so hard at him landing somewhere between blaming stress and his own asshole tendencies. The way Harry had looked like he’d been slapped in the face was nothing like the satisfaction he expected to feel.

He pushes Harry from his mind, pulling out his phone instead. The message he hasn’t responded to because he doesn’t know what to say.

On one hand, he wants to meet BookCat94 just to see what he’s like in person but on the other he doesn’t want to ruin what they have. He likes the anticipation of a new message, being able to say whatever he wants without judgment. He likes the escape. He’s just not sure how to say that without sound like a dick.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I don’t know if it’s a good idea for us to meet yet. There’s something so average about my life but talking to you here makes it seem bigger than it is…or at least less stressful. It’s like we have our own island out here in cyberspace where we can say whatever we want and, call me crazy, but I don’t want to lose it._

-

Harry sets his phone face down on the counter and focuses back on Niall.

“We’re down five percent.”

“They just opened today.” Harry puts his face in his hands, elbows propped up on the back counter. “It’s only been one day.” He’s glad the lights are dimmed so even if someone walked by outside they wouldn’t be able to see him.

“I know, I know. If you think about it though, they’re new, right? Shiny, new toys always get played with first,” Niall touches his shoulder but Harry can’t look up. “People still come back to their old reliable favorite toys. We’re that toy, H. They’ll be back.”

“Ni, when my mom bought Gemma a Malibu Barbie for Christmas one year, she threw Business Barbie in the trash almost immediately.”

“Your sister and her treatment of Barbie’s is a shit example and you know that.” Niall raises his eyebrows at him when Harry looks up and he knows what he’ll say before he does it, “You can’t just assume the worst. You don’t—“

“Don’t know what amazing, wonderful thing could happen tomorrow.” Harry smiles but he can’t quite get it to reach his eyes. “I think I’ve heard this one before.”

“M’sure you have.” He nods and flips to the next page of the report, the one about the bestselling titles for the day. Harry can close his eyes for this part so he does, and he lets Niall’s steady voice wash over him as disappointment settles low in his stomach.

++

To celebrate the grand opening, Zayn spends the evening at his parent’s house leaving with two bags of leftovers from his mom, at least a week worth of meals. He’s been teaching himself to cook recipes from both sides of his family but he’s yet to make something even half as delicious as his mom whips up on a whim. At least he’s doing better than his middle sister, Waliyha, who almost burned down her dorm trying to emulate their mom’s recipe for a stew.

After, when he gets up to his apartment, he realizes the intensity of the last few days leading up to the big open. For every part that is draining or stressful, Zayn really does love the result of a finished store.He grabs his iPad off of the kitchen counter and heads straight for his bed, hardly even stopping himself from jumping in the air and clicking his heels together to propel forward onto the duvet.

He feels like he could sleep for four days straight as he pulls up his e-mail, heart beating rapidly in his chest. Alertness floods him immediately when he sees an empty inbox. He’d gotten a response from BookCat94 about not meeting just a quick, _completely understand_ followed by three x’s, which Zayn took to be a good sign. He’s debating if he should open Netflix when a new message pops up. Zayn’s thankful he’s alone as he grins stupidly to himself and opens the message.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_Spring here is so beautiful. I was thinking about the way the trees bloom all over again as I was walking home tonight. Weirdly, it made me miss my mom. She’s been gone for five years now, not sure if I’ve told you, but sometimes it hits me all over again when I least expect it._

_She loved every season in New York, one of those people, but she loved spring the most. She used to pick wildflowers on her walk home from work and give them to my sister and me. I didn’t even realize I was doing it tonight until I got home with a wad of flowers. I put them in a water glass and I’m looking at them now as I write this._

_I guess I miss my mom the most because I need some advice from her and I know she’d know what to do. It’s the worst kind of ache to know I can’t get it from her._

Zayn flips his iPad sideways pulling up the keyboard and flexing his fingers. He types out a quick message hoping BookCat94 is still somewhere near his computer.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I wish I could tell you more than I feel sorry for your loss. It seems so menial even as I type it but know it comes from the bottom of my heart._

_What kind of advice do you need? Maybe I can help?_

_x._

He goes to get a glass of water before returning to his bed. He stares at the iPad like he’s expecting it to burst into flames. Its probable BookCat94 isn’t waiting by his computer with baited breath but on the off chance he is, Zayn doesn’t want to miss it. He strips to his briefs, takes a lap around his room and nearly jumps out of his skin when his iPad makes the low fluttering sound of a new e-mail.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_Mm, I don’t know if you can help me._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I’m good at advice, I promise! Remember how I have three sisters? I have a degree in advice._

_Talk to me._

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I own a business. I’m almost sure I haven’t told you that yet either, but I do. It’s a wonderful place but quickly getting into trouble. Lots of numbers and bad guys and sleepless nights, I’m sure you can imagine._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I don’t own a business but I help with one. Maybe I can help you with yours, too. What is it?_

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_No specifics, remember? That’s our rule._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_Alright, alright. It’s hard to help without specifics, babe. I guess the best thing to tell you is to not give up. My favorite superheroes never just lie down and take it from the villain, you know? They fight the good fight; work hard for the greater good, all that._

_So, my advice is to Superman your shit and fight. I’ve been taught it’s not personal, it’s business—you might want to remember that too._

FROM: BookCat94    

TO NYAZ112

_I can try. If not, I’m taking my dude Tony Stark’s advice and supplementing my entire diet with scotch. (please know what I’m talking about)_

_Sleep well._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_‘Give me a scotch, I’m starving.’_

_I’ve got you._

_Goodnight._

_xxx._

++

“What are you wearing?” Niall stops short in front of Harry the next morning and frowns.

“What?” Harry runs his hands over the front of the black and yellow shirt he found in the back of his closet.

“You’re dressed like a fifteen year old.”

“Excuse me, Niall. Batman is not only for fifteen year olds.”

Niall nudges his head towards the Batman dolls on the table in the far corner and Harry scoffs.

“Fine, maybe. Whatever.” He clears his throat and tries to look as official as possible, “I’ve decided we can’t just lie down and let Malik’s Books just take out the store. We have to fight, like Batman and Superman and the Ninja Turtles and Ironman and—“

“Yes, superheroes, I’m familiar, H.”

“Right,” Harry nods, “So, we have to stand up for the little guy. Us being the little guy.”

“And you just saw your Batman shirt and decided this is the answer?” Niall looks like he’s about to laugh.

“I may have been inspired by someone.”

“Who?” Niall leans forward with a grin before taking a step back as his smile droops, “Was it your internet friend?”

“Internet friend sounds kind of creepy.” He scrunches his nose for emphasis.

“Uh, well, that’s what he is. Or she. You haven’t considered it’s a she.”

“It’s a he. He’s a he. I know.”

“Dick pics?” Niall leers and Harry rolls his eyes at him.

“No, Niall. I just know.” There’s a smile threatening to break through Harry’s face and he tries to stifle it with his hand.

“You are actually, like, smitten over this stranger.”

Harry’s smile comes out sheepish, casting his eyes down along the counter.

Niall stares at him passively for a second and then shakes his head. “So, Batman, what are we doing? Getting out some boxing gloves and guns to fight big bad Zayn on top of a building at midnight?”

“As fun at that would be, no. We'll just get some local media coverage to drum up a little bit of compassion from the neighborhood. People might donate or just buy some books from us. It’s not a long term solution but maybe it keeps our heads above water a little longer, you know?”

Niall nods thoughtfully before his eyes focus back on Harry’s, eyebrow in a perfect arch. “Harry Styles. What local media are you talking about?”

“Rhymes with Riam Rayne,” Harry says in his best singsong voice.

“I hate you. I’ll call him because I love you but I hate you.”

“Niall,” Harry all but yells as crawls on the counter until he can wrap his arms around Niall’s neck, and squeeze, “I love you so very much.”

“Get off me.” Niall slides from his grasp and fluffing his hair, “You’re lucky I don’t make train wrecks out of my relationships and can ask for favors.”

“I am,” Harry grabs his chest with an airy smile, “I am so lucky.”

“You need to get a different shirt,” Niall says pointing at him. “If I get a news crew here, you need to not look like a fifteen year old.” As Harry opens his mouth to complain Niall holds up a hand, “I’m officially the media coordinator. What I say goes.” He grins over his shoulder as he heads to the back room.

Harry climbs off the counter and pulls at his bottom lip with his fingers. For the first time he doesn’t feel a weight sinking low in his stomach. He knows it’s still lingering though, waiting for the moment to hit him the hardest if this doesn’t work.

++

Louis has a business proposition. These have never ended well for anyone involved but Zayn obliges him and meets him for happy hour at the bar near his apartment anyways.

“Basically, we’ll convert a van into the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo,” he takes a gulp from his beer to punctuate the sentence, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Right, and then what?” Zayn scratches at his jaw, the beginnings of scruff he no longer has to shave until the next location gets underway.

“I dunno,” Louis shrugs, “We’d just like sit and—Dude, your store.” He points to the TV just beyond Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn turns around, nearly sliding off the stool at the bar in the process.

He looks around for the remote, grabbing it from behind the counter and turning up the TV as the news shows a shot of his family’s store on Broadway. He gets the volume up loud enough just as the screen switches to a shot of Harry Styles standing outside of _his_ store. He’s got his shirt buttoned up all the way—it’s what Zayn notices first and he almost slaps himself at the realization.

Harry’s back is up against the painted sign on his storefront window, a few microphones thrust up close to his face as his eyes shift around. The bottom of the screen reads ‘Malicious Malik’s Attack Local Store’ as Harry starts to speak.

“My grandma first opened this store as a place where kids could fall in love with reading. For me, Cheshire Cat Books is where I learned about the magic of a story and I know I’m not the only one. I own the shop now and everything I was taught to stand up for is being threatened by a discount superstore up the block.”

“Holy shit is he talking about you?” Louis grabs Zayn’s arm and he sounds excited for a showdown instead of defensive for Zayn. So is the way of Louis Tomlinson.

“I’ve met him. I told you that didn’t I? He’s nice but not as nice as he seems on TV.” Zayn says looking back at the screen, Harry’s pink lips forming slowly around each word.

He has a notecard in his hands he’s reading from and Zayn can see it shaking as he holds it. He almost feels bad until he remembers Harry is dragging his family on TV. He waves a hand when Louis opens his mouth to talk, leaning further in towards the screen hanging on the far wall.

“We can’t let small family businesses get run out of town by corporate machines. Not when the small businesses are what made our neighborhood what it is in the first place. We ask that you join us in showing solidarity for Cheshire Cat Books and more, for small businesses all along the Upper West Side. Thank you.”

As the camera pulls back, Zayn sees a small swarm of people gathered and his eyebrows pull together as they start chanting something he can’t quite make out. The reporter, a Liam Payne, comes back on the screen to talk about a fundraiser the store plans to have.

“What the fuck?” Zayn mutes the TV and throws the remote back to the other side of the bar.

“So, um, that Harry guy. Is he, uh, as hot in person?” Louis has the sense to say it somewhat hesitantly even as Zayn stares daggers at him.

“He’s gorgeous, Lou. Not that you should be concerned with him when he’s throwing my name around like I’m the fuckin’ Joker and he’s Batman”

“Damn, those lips—“ his voice fades with a far off look in his eyes before Zayn interrupts him.

“He has a boyfriend. Little blonde guy.” The lie comes out easily. He’s only assuming it’s a lie, though; It could very well be an honest answer.

“The best ones always do,” he sighs and nods at the bartender for another round. “About his charity drive he’s doing. Should I donate? And do you think that would get him to break up with said boyfriend?”

“Honestly, you’re the worst person I know,” Zayn says as seriously as he can manage with his phone vibrating in his pocket. When he pulls it out, he sees 23 Google Alerts for articles mentioning Malik’s Books and he already knows ‘Harry Styles’ is in every one of those too.

++

Six days after the news cameras and the reporters pack up and leave Cheshire Cat Books, Harry has an inbox of emphatic e-mails in support of the store but as Niall told him with a resigned sigh that afternoon, sales are still dropping dramatically.

Harry finds himself sitting alone in his apartment with a cup of the finest malt whisky twenty dollars can buy. Which is to say, wincing after each sip and scrolling through e-mails.

He pulls open a new message, takes a sip of scotch and tries to formulate something meaningful.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112N

_Being a superhero sucks. Or is it just being an unsuccessful superhero that sucks?_

_And maybe it’s the scotch or the fact I’ve slept fourteen hours in the last week or just that I like you but the only thing I can think of right now is sending you a message. When something good happens, or the bad stuff too, I always want to tell you._

_You make me feel like I have something to say and for some reason all of our meaningless conversations have meant more to me than those I have with people in real life. I think you might know more about me than some of my own friends._

_Thanks, I guess. Thanks for being the one I can vent to and the one to give me advice. I’ve never had internet friends before and I would venture a guess they’re not all like you—I feel lucky you’re mine._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_Would you still want to meet?_

_You can answer in the morning. Get some sleep, babe._

_xx._

++

Niall walks in to the store the next morning prepared to deal with Harry falling apart, perhaps curled up under one of the tables.

Instead, he finds him sweeping the sales floor with a grin, dancing to the stereo he usually only turns on for Saturdays before he becomes the Storybook Prince. It takes a second for Niall to form words, standing in the corner near the front door and wondering just how delusional his best friend has become.

When Harry spots Niall, he squawks; the broom slipping from his hand and landing on the floor with an angry _clack_.

“What the fuck is this?” He waves his hand at Niall, squatting to grab the broom. “Just standing in the corner and staring at me. You could have given me a heart attack. Probably.”

“You realize the store is, like, dying right?” Niall takes a small step forward, his hands up like Harry’s a spooked animal.

“Is it really?” His eyebrows shoot up and he makes a visible effort not to smile.

“Honestly, I say this with love, but you’re the weirdest person I know.”

“I’m meeting him, Niall. I’m meeting Nyaz.” He started calling NYAZ112 just Nyaz in casual conversation, mostly to avoid Niall’s harsh use of the words “internet friend”.

Niall adjusts the bag on his shoulder, rolling his lip under his teeth.

“Do you think that’s a good idea, H? Really? You don’t even know him.”

“We’re meeting in public,” Harry says as if being in public is the definition of safety. “Don’t be a Debbie Downer, Ni. I’m like over the moon excited here. I haven’t been this happy in, oh,” he glances at his left wrist, “months. Maybe years. But probably months.”

Niall shifts on his feet and Harry can nearly see his brain running the probability of Harry being cat fished straight into trouble by a stranger. “I won’t be a downer as long as you promise to tell me when you get home. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to call the police.”

“I’m—I’m twenty-five years old,” Harry puts a hand to his chest as Niall shrugs and walks past him.

“Humor me,” he says turning to walk backwards and watch Harry roll his eyes and shake his head dramatically.

Harry knows Niall worries but he also know he won’t fight him on his decisions. Especially not when Harry’s found the one thing to make him to smile as everything else goes to shit around them.

-

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Zayn grabs the counter in front of the mirror nearly falling over as Louis appears in the bathroom behind him. He puts a hand over his chest feeling the intensity of his pulse through his shirt.

“How’d you get in here?” He asks when he no longer feels like his heart is going to stop from overexertion.

“You gave me a key,” Louis rolls his eyes and runs his hands through his own hair, looking in the mirror to check himself out.

“Not to pop up unexpectedly, though.” Zayn shakes his head and maneuvers around him, shutting off the bathroom light as he goes.

“So that’s what you’re wearing, then?”

Zayn pulls at the top of his leather jacket and glances down at his black jeans and DMs.

“Um, yeah.”

“Right, well, it’s a bit intimidating, if I’m honest.”

“Right, well, if I’m honest, I don’t care.” Zayn gives him a tight-lipped smile and grabs his keys off the top of the kitchen counter. “Are you just going to loiter in my apartment until I come back or what?”

“No, I’m just walking with you. I actually have a date tonight.”

“Why are you walking with me then?” Zayn squints at Louis who is adjusting his hair again.

“To keep you company.”

“On the eight block walk?”

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs, “And to make sure he’s not a psycho killer, obviously.”

“You can tell that from just looking at people? What a gift.” Zayn pulls open the front door. Ideally, he wouldn’t have Louis trailing behind him to go meet BookCat94 but he’s never quite been able to get Louis to do exactly what he wants.

Out on the street and heading up towards some little dessert place he’s never heard of, Sweet Tart, Zayn starts to feel the lightest tinge of nerves in his chest.

“You okay?” Louis asks when they cross to the other side of the street, four blocks away now.

“Yeah,” Zayn clears his throat and tries again, “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“Awesome,” Zayn says with a tight laugh. “It’s like—like, I’ve been talking to him for, what, four almost five months now? And there’s a chance after tonight we won’t speak again.”

“Why wouldn't you speak again?” Louis’ eyebrows furrow together.

“He might think I’m weird or awkward. He might hate me upon first sight,” Zayn shrugs, poised to continue the list.

“Or, it’s love at first sight. In which case, I call best man at your wedding.”

“Noted,” Zayn gives a short smile.

“What about him? What if you don’t like him?”

“Impossible.”

“He could have three heads and eight arms, Z. He could spew pus out of his eyeballs.”

“You need to lay off the green, buddy.” Zayn punches his shoulder, swallowing hard over the butterflies erupting in his stomach now.

“You really like him, huh?” Louis scrunches his nose up, like he can’t quite believe it.

“I really do,” Zayn admits, biting his lip and shaking his head all at once. “Barring the three heads, eight arms and the pus coming out of his eyeballs, I think I would be crazy not to fall madly in love with him.”

“I’m going to be sick. I’ve never heard you talk like this and it is, honestly, frightening.”

Zayn laughs, “Oh, it gets worse. On the off chance he has the three heads, eight arms and pus coming out of every _orifice_ , I will still consider falling in love with him.”

They come to a stop just outside of Sweet Tart as Louis stares at Zayn, his mouth gaping.

“And you met in a chat room about garbage disposals,” Louis clarifies and laughs, the sound echoing off of the brick buildings.

Zayn feels a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was the only one who responded to his terrible joke about forks.”

“Now that is charming. Do you want me to see if he’s in there yet?”

“What? No, that’s embarrassing,” Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Just let me look through the window, I’ll see if he’s a psycho killer and prepare you for if he has three heads.”

“Yeah, alright, fine. Don’t let him see you,” Zayn whispers the last part as Louis darts up the short staircase to the window.

“Uh, he won’t know who I am but I’ll be careful,” he throws over his shoulder before looking back. “Okay, so how are you supposed to know what one is him?”

“Blue beanie,” Zayn says, suddenly hoping there’s not a room full of men in blue beanies.

“Zayn.”

His heart stutters in his chest as Louis looks back at him, eyes like he’s seen a ghost.

“What?”

“You won’t believe this but,” he pauses, “he has four heads.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn throws a dismissive hand walking backwards a few paces.

“Sorry, sorry, looking for real now,” Louis says over his laughter. “Alright, blue beanie, blue beanie. Oh, I see him.” He grins, excitement bubbling in his smile.

“Well, what does he look like?”

“There’s a waiter in the way, oh, there he goes,” Louis stops speaking for a moment. “Oh, fuck. Oh. Wow. Okay. He’s hot, dude. Like, the pretty kind of hot.”

Zayn jumps in the air with the kind of grin that has his eyes squeezing shut, “I knew it. I knew he would be.”

“I think, he has, uh,” Louis purses his lips and looks between Zayn and the window, “like, a Harry Styles look?”

“Harry Styles? Little bookstore Harry Styles?” Zayn tries not to look at Louis like he’s lost his mind.

He nods, “I mean, you think he’s pretty attractive right?”

“Well, yeah, I told you that. But that doesn’t really matter right now, dude.”

“Um, yeah, well. Actually, it does.” Louis looks back over towards him slowly, “Because it _is_ Harry Styles.”

Zayn doesn’t even speak just trips over his feet scrambling up the steps to press his face against the window next to Louis.

His eyes find the blue beanie among the crowd of black and brown jackets easily. And Louis is right--it is Harry Styles. He’s sitting at a table for two, twisting the candle in the center of the table, blue beanie pushing his hair away from his face.

“What the fuck,” Zayn takes a step back from the window covering his mouth with his hand.

“He might not be your guy,” Louis says standing up on his tiptoes to look around the restaurant.

“Oh, he just happens to be the only one sitting alone at a table for two in a blue beanie,” Zayn snaps, running down the short staircase back to the sidewalk.

“Bro,” Louis follows him down the stairs, “What are you gonna do?”

“Nothing,” Zayn slides his hands into the cool leather pockets of his jacket and nods once to affirm his decision.

“Nothing?” Louis takes a step forward, almost challenging, “You’re going to just let him sit there and wait for you to never come?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Louis stares at him for a moment. “Zayn, he’s the one that wrote all that stuff. Yeah, he’s Harry Styles but all that shit he sent you was still him.”

“Goodnight, Lou.” Zayn turns and walks back the way they had come, feeling Louis’ eyes on his back, not daring to look over his shoulder to face his judgment.

-

Guilt starts to creep in after the first block and instead of passing through it settles deep in Zayn’s stomach, curling like a tight fist. A little less than halfway to his apartment, Zayn turns around and starts to jog back towards Sweet Tart, dodging people with quick apologies as he moves. Before he can plan out what he wants to say or do, he’s tumbling through the door of the restaurant almost out of breath.

It sends the guilt into an even stronger hold when he glances at Harry and sees him curl down in his chair, pulling his beanie lower over his face as if he’s hiding.

Zayn takes purposeful steps towards him even when Harry shields his face with his hand, nearly twisting his neck backwards to avoid Zayn seeing him.

“Harry Styles, what a coincidence.” Zayn steps up to the small table, resting his hand on the back of the empty chair. Harry looks up at him with hard eyes, his lips staying pressed together in a thin line. “Mind if I sit?”

“Yeah, actually,” Harry says, his hands coming to rest on top of the table, “I’m expecting someone.”

Zayn looks behind his shoulder towards the door before pulling the chair out and smoothly sliding into it. He doesn’t miss the surprise flitting across Harry’s face before settling back towards the soft side of anger.

“What are you doing?” Harry leans forward and whispers across the table.

“Sitting,” Zayn says pulling the candle in the middle of the table more towards him.

“No,” Harry shakes his head and pulls the candle, twisting it back to its original position, “You need to leave. Please.”

Zayn glances over his shoulder again and tucks the chair further into the table until his knees touch Harry’s. Harry jerks his legs away, turning in his chair so his knees aren’t even under the table anymore.

“I’ll leave when your friend comes,” Zayn puts a solemn hand over his heart, “Promise.”

“Right,” Harry rolls his eyes, “As if you’ve ever given me a reason to trust you.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” Zayn says twisting one of his rings, “And I’m actually pretty serious about promises.”

“I’m sure.”

“Really, I am. I think you’d find that out if you really knew me.”

“If I really knew you,” Harry leans forward, hissing in a whisper, his eyes locked on Zayn, “I’d find a manipulative brain, a lying tongue and a heart full of nothing but cold hard cash.”

Zayn keeps his face calm, watching as Harry’s face turns pink in the dim light and he sits back in his chair. He straightens the candle again, looking at his hands instead of Zayn.

“What is it?”

Harry meets his eyes with a shake of his head. “Uh, I’m not usually able to confront rude people but something about you just helps me along.”

“Oh, well,” Zayn puts his hands in his lap and studies Harry. “You did quite well with it, really. Very, uh, poetic with just a hint of bitterness.”

“Bitter?” Harry turns so his knees are under the table again, probably poised to go on a rant.

“No, don’t get it twisted,” Zayn puts his hands up in surrender, “It’s sort of a compliment, I guess.”

Harry’s mouth opens and closes slowly and Zayn twists the candle again towards him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Harry sighs instead of reaching for the candle, “Please just leave. Please.”

Zayn recognizes the defeat in his voice. He slides the candle back to the center of the table and stands. He makes a point of straightening the chair as he pushes it back in.

As he moves around to sit at the table behind Harry, he hears the door open and Harry sit up straight to see who it is before sinking back down again.

Zayn can’t hide his grin when he leans back in his chair and bumps Harry.

“I thought you fuckin’ left,” Harry huffs.

“Nah, still here,” Zayn angles his chair to see the side of Harry’s face even as Harry keeps his eyes locked forward.

“You know, your beanie reminds me of those blue Hydrangeas in the park. Do you know the ones, the park by your store?”

Harry nods once, tersely, tugging his beanie down even further.

“I noticed them the first day I met you—“

Harry glances over at him, “The day you lied to me, you mean?”

“I didn’t lie,” Zayn reiterates from earlier, leaning back and trying to catch Harry’s eyes. He’s resigned to staring at the opposite wall again, as if Zayn isn’t there.

“Just went through extra effort to make sure I didn’t know who you were.”

“No, that’s not what happened.”

“Right because I’m just some dumb kid, yeah? I can’t run a store or read a situation. I knew something was weird with you but I choose to not believe people are fucked up on instinct.”

Zayn stands up from the table and re-seats himself across from Harry.

“I don’t think those things, Harry.” Zayn grips the edge of the table, “I was just coming in with my niece and nephew to have a good time. Not to attack you. My life isn’t some cakewalk where I just gallivant around the city scouting out little bookstores to ruin.”

“Oh my god,” Harry doesn’t whisper this time. “You poor millionaire. I feel so sorry for--.” He cuts himself off, tilting his head up to look over Zayn as another group walks in through the front door, deflating again as soon as the door closes leaving a group of teenage girls standing just in front of the doorway.

Zayn follows Harry’s gaze to look at them and then back towards Harry.

“Let me guess, that’s not who you’re waiting for?”

Harry shakes his head almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenching. He’s so clearly annoyed but Zayn can’t leave. Not yet.

“Who is it, then? Who are you meeting?” Zayn leans forward and tries to keep his voice low, tries not to be the dick Harry has him pegged as.

“Just a friend,” Harry says, pulling at his bottom lip with two fingers.

“Just a friend who you’re so excited to see you nearly fall out of your chair every time to door opens?”

Harry glares at him and looks away pointedly.

“Well, damn, Harry, are you planning to be as rude to them as you’re being to me?”

Harry’s head snaps back to look at Zayn, his lips in a hard line, eyebrows pulled together. “No, Zayn Malik, I will not. The man who is meeting me here is nothing like you. He’s smart and funny and brave. He’s not cruel whereas I’m starting the think that’s all you may be.” He leans forward across the table as he speaks, his top lip almost snarling.

Zayn swallows and sets his hands on top of the table. “Well,” he slides the chair back. “I think that’s as good as a cue for me to leave, then.”

He stands up and pushes the chair back in slowly. Harry watches him with cold eyes none of the warmth and budding laughter Zayn had gotten that first day. He’s not sure he’ll ever get that from Harry again.

“Goodnight, Harry.” He says it over his shoulder as he walks away. For the second time that night he doesn’t turn back to see the judgment in someone else’s eyes.

++

Harry has been refreshing his e-mail every two minutes on the dot since he woke up at 6:38. He knows he got no more than twenty solid minutes of sleep as he knotted the sheets around himself and flopped from his back to his stomach all night.

“What happened?” Niall yells the question as he flies through the door, barely shutting it behind him. “You just text me ‘home’ last night which means you were too busy to type coherent sentences. So, spare me the nasty details, please, but was he everything you hoped?”

“He,” Harry clears his throat as Niall comes around the counter sliding his bag off his shoulder, “He didn’t come.”

“Oh, shit, H.” Niall pats his arm before sliding his bag into the cubby below the counter, “Couldn’t make it?”

“Not sure, actually.” His voice is quiet and he hates it. He wants to be able to shout this to Niall without each word getting caught in his throat. “I haven’t heard from him.”

“He stood you up?” Niall’s hands are on his hips, brow furrowed.

“I don’t know. Something could have happened or something.”

If he sounds desperate for an excuse, it’s because he is. He was so close to tears on his walk home last night he’d pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw flashes of color behind his eyelids.

“I bet you’re right. Like, a subway delay or a doctor’s appointment or his power went out and he got stuck in an elevator.” Niall’s voice has a hopeful lilt to it and Harry tries to mirror it.

“Right, yeah,” he nods. “I’m sure he has a perfectly good excuse for not being there.”

Niall nods, “How long did you, uh, how long did you wait?”

Harry waves a hand in front of him, “Not that long. Zayn Malik came in at one point.“

“Fuck that dude.”

“I don’t even want to think about it anymore, really,” Harry waves his hand in the same motion again. “Let’s just get to work.”

He turns towards the store and for the first time he can remember, it’s quiet. No moms rushing in for books or toddlers coming in with their nannies. Nothing but the steady hum of their old computer. Niall taps his fingers against the countertop, clearly just as at a loss for what to do in an empty store.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I’ve been thinking about you._

_Last night, at the restaurant, I was waiting but you never came. I wish I could know why. I felt like a fool, to be honest._

_While I was waiting, someone else showed up instead--someone who has all but ruined my professional life. I ended up saying the terrible things I can’t usually think of in time and it’s left me feeling empty. Just like you said, it’s not satisfying and I feel like an ass. I’m never cruel and I was so mean to him. I know I mean nothing to this guy--he’s steamrolling my business as I type this—it still doesn’t excuse what I said to him._

_Anyway, you were who I hoped to see and I would have loved to talk to you instead. I hope you have a good reason for not being there. If you don’t, and we don’t get the chance to do this anymore, I hope you know how much all these little nothings have meant to me over the past few months._

-

It’s been four hours and fifty-six minutes since he got the last message from Harry.

Zayn hasn’t let himself linger for too long over just how odd that the message is, in fact, from _Harry_. Instead, he’s been watching the minutes drip away as he continues to type out the worst possible excuses before deleting them and tossing his phone across the room. Inevitably, he walks across the room and grabs the phone five minutes later only to go through the process again.

He’s tried every excuse barring the truth and a zombie apocalypse with nothing adding up in a way that makes sense. There’s no viable reason for not sending a message last night to say where he was even if he couldn’t come There’s also no viable reason for it being nearly twenty-four hours later without one message or excuse sent to Harry.

Harry may feel like an ass for what he said but Zayn feels like an even bigger one for how he’s handled just about every moment since meeting Harry. He lays down on the couch with a sigh, pulling up a blank message.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I wish there were words to tell you how terrible I feel to have left you in a situation like that. We all say things we regret when we’re stressed or worried or pissed off. I’m sure whoever it was will understand. You were expecting to see someone you trust and you were met with someone you can’t stand instead. Believe me when I say I’m sorry._

_Someday I’ll explain everything to you. Until then, I’m still here. Talk to me, please._

++

If Harry had to pick the most depressing days of his life, he could name a couple off the top of his head--days where sadness overwhelmed him to the point of exhaustion. He thought he’d reached his own personal quota on those kinds of days.

At least until the clock strikes midnight as he and Niall mark down the merchandise in the store and hang discount signs along the windows and from the ceilings. Harry never knew the words “EVERYTHING MUST GO” could be so painful. Niall, for his part, has tried to keep Harry’s mind occupied talking about anything and everything besides the bright orange stickers he’s sticking on the cover of each book in the shelf.

“So, this guy, Nyaz, he never said anything else about meeting?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head, taping an orange poster board to the wall behind the stuffed animal characters, “And I’ve decided it’s fine. Maybe we’ll just always be e-mail friends. Pen pals without a pen.”

Niall snorts and Harry’s sure he’s rolling his eyes.

There are a few minutes of silence before Niall speaks again. “I’m proud of you, H. For making the decision to do this,” he motions around the store, “I know it wasn’t easy.”

The decision to sell the store and liquidate product before closing for good was not a decision Harry came to lightly. He and Gemma fought for ages over it with neither of them wanting to admit they had to give it up. Then, Harry had nearly pulled his hair out trying to explain the close to the handful of employees left, his voice breaking when he called to tell Niall about the final decision.

“It just sucks,” Harry says when he finds his voice. “It feels like quitting. Like I’m letting my mom down, her legacy or whatever.”

Niall sets down the tape in his hand and comes closer to Harry. He doesn’t wait for Harry to look at him just let’s him stack the books on the table.

“You know, the store isn’t keeping her legacy alive, yeah? It’s you and Gemma being the people she raised you to be. I mean, you’re both weird as hell but that’s probably less your mom and more your own flaws.”

“Eloquently put,” Harry smirks, glancing up at Niall.

“You know what I mean, though. Like, that’s what keeps her legacy around not a store. It’s you guys telling her stories and forcing everyone to read new books and being fuckin’ nice people like she taught you.”

“You’re a real philosopher.” Harry sits back on his heels to look at the display. He hides his gratitude with a sarcastic remark but he knows Niall understands especially when he walks past him towards the next shelf and tugs on a stray curl.

-

Harry assumed hanging the signs, the beginning of the true end, would be the saddest part of the store closing. He was wrong.

Instead, it was four days later and the last day of the liquidation sale. The store was the busiest it’d been in months and even that put a bittersweet twist in Harry’s chest.

Buzzing chatter bounced off of the walls as people bought armfuls of books. Some customers told him stories about his mom or his grandma while other went on rants about the corporate monster of Malik’s Books.

Harry tried to remain even keeled all day. He tried to throw genuine smiles as people bought the artwork off the walls and hauled off the empty bookshelves. He made sure not to let his face crumple when he shook hands with each employee as they left after their shifts. He tried not to let anyone see how his heart was breaking, how being strong and making the right choice wasn’t always simple. How the fact that his store was a plan life didn’t account for still hurt him just as badly.

When the last customer left just after eight, that night Niall and Harry packed up the remaining few books and left them out for pick-up—to be taken to a children’s hospital across town, a donation in Anne Styles’ name. And then, when there was nothing left besides a few stray dust balls, Niall squeezed Harry tight before heading out to his shift at the bar. He told him he’d see him the next day for lunch and Harry nodded, a sudden lump in his throat making speech nearly impossible.

Now, he turns out the lights near the door for the last time and feels the first burn of tears even after telling himself he wouldn’t cry. He reaches up for the bell above the door and tucks it into his hand, the hand already holding the Storybook Prince’s crown.

He stands in the doorway facing what is essentially, now, just a room. He swears he can almost hear his mom’s laughter echoing off of the walls, the thump of Gemma’s beat up sandals as she runs around the tables giggling while he makes up a dance in the corner. He closes his eyes and tries to let the echoes sink in, settle deep in his memory.

It takes him three steps backward to be able to shut the door, two more to pull the black iron security gate down. He gets on his knees to lock it, like his mom had showed him when he was five. Puts the key in, pulls to the left, tug a little bit back and twists fully to the right. The click of the lock feels like the symbolic slamming shut of a chapter of his life. He stays on his knees a beat longer than he needs to before standing up. He reaches his hand through the gate and touches the painted window one last time.

When he walks away he looks back towards the store four times before he turns the corner careful not to let the lump in his throat overwhelm him.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_My store closed a couple of days ago. Officially. I’ve told myself not to lose it completely and I’ve kept that promise, so far at least._

_I think the hardest part will be when it is just a memory to the neighborhood. When they scrape the sign my mom painted off to replace it with some new age coffee place or a juice bar. A customer asked me what I plan to do now and I couldn’t find an answer._

_I finally told her I’ll have free time to do the things I’ve always wanted—and I even manage to smile as I said it. The truth is, I’m heartbroken. There’s a part of me that feels like my mom has died all over again, like another piece of my heart has been torn off completely._

_People keep saying it’s not fair. I agree, of course I agree. But at the same time, this is the way the world works. Life doesn’t always account for our plans and it just sucks that my store had to be one of those plans._

++

When Zayn walks into the Upper West Side location on Broadway a week later it feels like a catch-22. Business has been better than they expected so they have to hire a larger staff, which is incredible, really. The catch is that overseeing the hiring of sales associates at new stores falls under Zayn’s umbrella of responsibilities. Which means he’s dressed in a suit and scheduled to sit in with the store manager on four interviews each hour all day. He groaned when his dad told him about it and was met with a prompt “Zayn, the cost of a good business is worth far more than a day spent in bed,” from Yaser.

By the time the interviews break for lunch, Zayn is sure he’s heard every high schooler in the area answer questions about customer service and being responsible. His favorite part is always asking them about their favorite book and watching some of them flail around with absolutely nothing to say.

Instead of actually eating during the break, Zayn finds himself wandering over to the children’s section of the store again. He did a series of drawings for one of the walls to brighten it up and he hasn’t had the chance to see them yet. Before he can get to them he hears, what is quickly becoming, the recognizable deep and slow tenor of Harry’s voice from the next aisle. Like an immovable spell has been put on his legs, Zayn stops moving and tries to listen.

“See, they’re all listed like the letters of the alphabet. So, Cleary starts with a C, right?”

Zayn hears a soft voice reply with a _yes_ before Harry takes the kid, whoever she may be, along the shelf to find the Beverly Cleary books. He closes his eyes as the girl tells Harry about reading them with her dad who is wandering around the store but how she wanted to do this part on her own.

A couple of minutes later and Zayn starts to feel like a spy as he watches Harry through a space in the shelves. Once the little girl leaves he walks down the aisle running his long fingers along the spines of the books. Zayn has to move a little closer when Harry turns the corner but he watches as he touches Zayn’s art on the far wall too.

Harry leaves the section after studying the paintings and Zayn nearly trips over his shoes trying to get around the corner before he sees him, much to the amusement of one boy who cackles loudly from the corner as it happens.

Eventually Zayn makes it back to the office for the next interview, peering ahead in the resumes and counting down to the last one at the end of the day.

“You ready?” The store manager, a brash woman called Kathy, asks when he sits back in the chair next to her.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Zayn says taking the top resume and scanning it quickly.

He hears a “Hi, I’m Niall,” the same time he sees _Previous Employer: Cheshire Cat Books_ and his tongue feels thick in his mouth. This fucking sucks.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_Do you ever get the feeling you’ve fucked everything up? I’m the kind of guy who always has a plan and things usually fall seamlessly according to it. These days, any plan I make blows up in my face. I’m sitting here wishing we got some do-overs where you could just go back and tell yourself to speak up (or shut up) or make a different decision. Just a couple do-overs in life so you don’t end up feeling like everything is falling apart in your hands with no one to blame but yourself._

_x._

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I would really like some do-overs especially on nights like tonight when I’m trying to figure out what I should do next—where I should go._

_When we first started talking all those months ago, I kind of had my life together. Now I feel like I’m floating through space with nowhere to set my feet down just surrounded by the deepest darkness._

_Not blaming you… but if you cursed me you gotta undo it._

_xx._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_Maybe you’re supposed to float around so you can find your new direction? Like, what have you always wanted to do but didn’t do it? Now is your chance to grab hold of whatever it is and go for it. There’s gotta be something--astronaut, firefighter, superhero, phone sex operator, etc._

_I promise you I didn’t curse you. If I had the super powers I’ve been dreaming of since I was a kid, I would be invisible and flying over the city—nothing to do with cursing innocent boys on the internet._

_Okay that sounded terribly creepy._

_xxx._

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I was on the verge of saying ‘I’m not as innocent as you think’ but I didn’t. Well, technically I just did because I typed it. You know what I mean._

_I studied English in college, which lends itself to being a writer…obviously. At the same time, I can’t imagine leaving the business side of the industry I’m in. OR, like you said, I can become a phone sex operator, which was number three on my dream list of jobs._

_I’ll let you know what I decide._

_Night._

++

The last message Zayn got from Harry arrived eight days ago. He wishes it wasn’t something he’s kept track of but suddenly it’s all he can think of each time he checks his e-mail and sees it.

Harry said he would let him know what he was going to do—Zayn just assumed it would be with another message and not complete silence. It’s the longest they’ve gone without talking since they first met in a dumb chat room about dumb shot glasses and forks in garbage disposals. It’s been eight nights of Zayn reasoning with himself that he can fix things with Harry. Eight nights of looking back at their conversations over e-mail and thinking over the only pleasant encounter in real life and realizing he can’t just let him go.

The thing is, he has no idea how Harry feels about the situation anymore.

Not when Zayn’s business put Harry out of business in real life and he isn’t talking to NYAZ112. Zayn has tried to talk it out with Louis but he’s had better luck running verbal circles in his head rather than Louis telling him he’s an asshole repeatedly.

He’s taken to walking by Harry’s store sometimes, noticing the sign is still on the window. Zayn wonders when it’s going to be taken down, re-painted into the new age coffee store or juice bar Harry thinks it’s going to be.

Eventually, he starts to feel like a murderer returning to the scene of his crime so he stops walking past. He still goes to the park in between their stores as he contemplates what the fuck to do.

By the time he decides the general direction he wants to head in it’s been eleven days since he’s heard from Harry and he’s not sure how many more he can take.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I’ve wanted to ask for days now—but how are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while now and as much I hope everything is okay, I miss you too._

_Hope you’re well._

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I didn’t mean to. Promise._

_I’ve been sick this last week—practicing my phone sex operator voice as well._

_x._

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I’m actually kidding about the phone sex part. I’m looking for jobs and pretending to write a book._

++

Harry is miserable when he’s sick. He feels miserable, true, but he’s also miserable to be around.

He wraps himself in blankets like a mummy and complains about everything. He knows he’s a pain the ass which is why he appreciates when Niall stops by before work to check in on him on a Thursday morning and to bring him a couple of books he’s found.

There were a tense few days after Niall was offered a job at Malik’s Books before Harry pulled his head out of his ass and realized his pride couldn’t be what stopped Niall from making money.

Niall ends up leaving the apartment ten minutes after he gets there with a quick, “Love you Harry but you’re awful,” when Harry sneezes on him.

The buzzer for his apartment goes off almost an hour later and he pulls himself from bed with his most dramatic sigh before dragging his feet to the front door and answering the intercom.

“Hello?” His voice sounds like he’s under water and he tries to clear his throat.

“Hi. It’s Zayn.”

If it’s possible, his heart stops beating in his chest before starting again at twice the pace. “Malik?”

“Yeah”

“I don’t want any. Go away.” Harry presses his forehead against the wall, finger poised over the talk button as Zayn’s scratchy voice comes through the speaker again.

“Harry. Let me come up. Please.”

“I’m actually really sick. And it’s disgusting. Trust me. There’s snot everywhere,” Harry squeezes his eyes shut as he speaks hoping Zayn will just go away.

There’s no response and he lifts his finger off the button as he sighs. He jumps back when there’s a knock on the door next to his face and he squeaks as he tries not to slip on the blanket cape he’s made.

He wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve before pulling open the door a crack. Zayn’s standing there with a small smile and a plastic bag in his hand that Harry hardly takes note of. Instead he sees how Zayn’s hair is kind of all over the place and the scruff on his face softens his features into less of a high fashion model and more of a teddy bear model and—

“How’d you get up here?”

“Little woman, Genie, I believe, let me in when she was walking out. Said I looked like a nice guy.” Zayn smirks then, and Harry pulls open the door a little more.

“You’re not a nice guy.”

“I am, you just haven’t given me a chance.”

Harry rolls his eyes, actually too weak to start a fight with Zayn. Again.

“I also got offered a blowjob by the homeless man outside your door which was an unsolicited yet weirdly nice offer.”

Harry can’t help but smile as he shakes his head. “You’re not special, you know. I get that offer everyday.”

“Can I just come in? I brought you soup.”

Harry looks at the bag in his hand and then back to his face, “Why?”

“Niall told me—“

“Fuckin’ Niall.” Harry pulls the door open so Zayn can step inside. He walks towards the kitchen but he hears the door click shut as Zayn follows. He gathers a few stray tissues on his way down the hall, shoving them in his pocket in an effort to not seem like a mess.

“Niall’s a really nice guy. I like him.”

“He has that effect on people,” Harry says sadly as he climbs onto the barstool in the kitchen. Niall loves Zayn. He tells Harry stories about the times he’s stopped by the store and how funny he is only stopping when Harry plugs his ears and starts humming loudly.

Zayn moves around Harry’s kitchen like he’s been there before, getting out a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer. Harry wipes at his nose a couple more times and gathers his mess of hair into a bun considering he hasn’t showered in two days. He rubs at his eyes hoping they aren’t as puffy as they were when he woke up.

“How do you feel?” Zayn asks taking out a clear container from the bag and pulling the lid back.

“Like poop. Like poop that got ran over by a car.”

Zayn laughs and shakes his head, pouring the soup in the bowl.

“Did you make that?” Harry wants to ask him to leave but the soup also smells really good so he figures he can stick it out a while longer.

“No, I wish,” Zayn licks the back of his hand and Harry is a little too mesmerized by the way his tongue drags along his skin. “My mom made it for dinner last night and she always sends me home with a bunch of leftovers. When I heard you were sick I figured you could use some.”

He puts the bowl in the microwave, leaning against the counter as it warms up.

“That’s really, uh, nice of you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Zayn laughs and tugs at his earrings. “I told you I’m a nice guy.” He sets the bowl in front of Harry when the timer goes off, handing him a spoon as well.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says without looking as he puts the Tupperware back in the plastic bag. He opens the refrigerator and nestles the package inside as Harry takes a bite.

Hot is an understatement. The soup burns his tongue but the spices run hot down his throat too.

“Whoa,” he exhales with half a smile playing at his lips.

“It’ll clear your sinuses, that’s for sure,” Zayn laughs as he turns back around and Harry almost forgets he hates him. There’s a purity to his laugh when his eyes crinkle in the corners and his nose scrunches.

“So, what have you been up to?” He leans forward on the counter, watching as Harry eats. Harry knows the attention should make him jittery but he isn’t going to tell Zayn to leave while he eats his mother’s soup.

“Not running a book store.” He puts another spoonful of soup on his mouth right as he says it and swallows quickly, “Sorry. That was rude.”

“No, no, I’ll take it.” Zayn traces lines on the counter.

“Other than that, I’ve read a lot. Um, I’m looking at jobs and writing a book, I think. My sister says I should move to LA.”

He doesn’t know Zayn well enough to read his eyes but something flashes there when he mentions LA.

“You’d consider leaving New York?”

Harry shrugs. Gemma had only mentioned it in passing and he already knows he wont do it but he’d at least like to sound like he has options in front of Zayn. In all honesty, he’s mostly been watching superhero movies based off a list Nyaz sent him a couple of months back.

“Is Niall okay at the store? Like, he’s my best friend and I know everyone loves him,” he sniffles again. “But he seems happy, yeah?”

Zayn smiles and ducks his head. “Yeah, he does. I only go into that location a couple of times a week now but he seems to really like it. I usually find him in the music section, actually. Last week he was teaching some old guy how to play the guitar.”

Harry grins at the thought and then he starts coughing again just barely covering his mouth in time with the sleeve of his hoodie. By the time he’s done being sick he’ll probably have to quarantine all of the clothes he’s worn over the past week.

“Here,” Zayn slides him a glass of water, taking the empty soup bowl and setting it in the sink. “Go lay down and I’ll make you some tea.”

Harry sits for a second and stares at Zayn’s back as he washes the bowl in the sink. He tries to figure out if he’s hallucinating off of his cold medicine or if Zayn Malik is actually in his house trying to make him tea.

He shuffles over to the couch with his duvet still wrapped around him sitting back against the corner.

When Zayn walks over towards him he reaches to take the mug, settling it in his lap. He nearly sloshes the tea all over him when Zayn reaches to put a cool hand against his forehead. Harry jerks his head back in surprise and Zayn pulls his hand away just as quickly.

“Just checking if you have a fever,” he mumbles looking towards the window and Harry watches the color rush in his cheeks.

“Oh.” Harry feels light-headed and out of his element all at once, “Um. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Zayn sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks around. Harry glances around too, the stray pictures hanging on the walls, his ugly green lamp, a pile of dirty clothes, way too many used tissues.

“Can I sit?” Zayn motions to the edge of the couch and Harry nods slowly. He takes a sip of tea and sets the cup on his coffee table.

“Listen, I’m really sorry about that night,” Harry twists his hands together, “At that restaurant. I’ve felt like a dick for being so rude to you. I just didn’t get the chance to apologize.”

“No, you’re good.” Zayn turns and bends his leg so it’s resting on the couch his hands in his lap. “I’m surprised you even let me in here, actually. I mean, you’re entitled to hate me.”

Harry smirks because hating Zayn is something he’s been working at. “I don’t hate you. I wish I could but so far it’s not happening very well.”

Zayn nods but stays silent.

“Um, not to be a dick, again, but why are you here?”

Zayn laughs at that and rubs his hands over his face, “I guess I just want to be your friend? Or, I was hoping we could be friends?”

“Oh.” Having his vocabulary reduced to one word is evidently a side affect of being in Zayn’s presence.

“We don’t have to be, like, best friends or whatever. But that first day, before I knew you were Harry Styles and you knew I was Zayn Malik, I really liked you. You seemed like you could have been one of my friends from college.”

Harry wants to say something but he’s not sure what exactly so he just nods a couple of times. He hasn’t had a lot of experience with the people he thought hated him wanting to be pals and _asking_ for friendship while sitting on his couch.

“What ever happened to that guy from that night, by the way? I thought you were crazy about him.”

Harry focuses back on Zayn and feels his cheeks go red. “I was. I am. Oh god, it’s so embarrassing.” He runs his hands over his face, speaking through the gap between them, “I met him on the internet and that night was the first night I was going to meet him in person.”

“So?” Zayn waits until he takes his hands away from his face, “It’s not like the nineties or something. A lot of people meet in weird ways. Was he on Grindr?”

“Oh my god, no,” Harry rolls his eyes and laughs. “You’re not the first person to assume that though.”

“I wouldn’t judge you, I swear. Do you think you’re going to meet him again? Or, I guess, are you even still talking to him?”

“Well, I asked him to meet me the first time and he said no, he stood me up the second,” he counts off the offenses on his fingers, “Not sure I want to go for a third mortifying incident.”

Harry watches Zayn lips form around _mortifying_ silently before he shakes his head, “I think you should try one more time.”

“Why? What do you know?” Harry squints at Zayn and raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing. Just that the way you talked about him made him sound special. And as your newest friend I feel like you deserve to be happy.”

“I—uh, well, thanks.” Harry furrows his brow, some part of him wondering if there are deeper motives to Zayn’s kindness.

Zayn checks his watch and stands up, “I actually have to run. But I left the soup in the fridge if you want more.”

Harry nods and pulls the blanket up around him.

“I really hope you feel better soon.” His voice is soft and it starts pushing at something in Harry’s chest. Zayn pats his hand on the edge of the couch and turns away with a small nod.

Harry watches his back as he goes down the hallway and then stares at the emptiness after he hears the front door click shut. He realizes he’s been holding his breath as his head goes fuzzy and he slides down flat on the couch shutting his eyes and willing himself to nap.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of days now. I think we should try to meet. Again._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_Completely agree. And we will. Soon._

_I‘m just working on a project that needs some…time._

++

It’s official. Zayn has never felt like more of a stalker in his life. Nearly a week after he visits a sick Harry he tries to coordinate a time to run into him accidentally on purpose.

He starts by going to the Broadway Malik’s Books just to track down Niall. He actually likes Niall but he can tell there’s still slight, unspoken tension with him being best friends, comrades in bookstore battle, with Harry. It takes Zayn the better half of their conversation to get up the nerve to mention Harry and to ask what he’s been doing during the days.

“Probably talking to butterflies or some shit,” Niall throws his head back laughing but sobers when Zayn just stares at him. “Uh, he’s been going to a bagel place a couple blocks down from his apartment, H and B or something? H and L? I don’t know. Something like that. He’s kind of got it in his head he needs to write a book so…yeah. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” Zayn shrugs and grabs the first book off the shelf that he sees. Luckily, it’s about the history of the electric guitar so he steers the conversation back into Niall’s territory and away from Harry for a few more minutes.

After, he walks directly to H&H Bagels (not H&L or H&B) with the sincerest hope of finding Harry. He’s feeling brave as he walks up to front window and peers in only to jump back when he sees Harry in the seat right in front of the window. Harry’s eyes go wide when he sees Zayn and he jolts back slightly. Zayn tries to recover with a friendly smile accompanied with a wave that Harry returns tentatively.

Zayn tries to count down from ten as he walks through the front door and control his breathing. He’s still nervous about his plan but he has to remind himself Harry is like a puppy for the most part. He can bark, clearly, but he doubts he can actually bite. Unless he wants to bite Zayn, which, he’s been thinking, sounds better and better each time he sees him. He’d like to bite Harry too, drag his teeth down his neck and—oh fuck that’s done nothing for his breathing.

Zayn orders a cup of coffee at the front and goes over to where Harry has his computer open but is reading a book perched over the keyboard. He doesn’t even look up when Zayn pulls the chair next to him out or when he sets his coffee down and coughs into his hand.

“Hey,” Zayn tries instead of shuffling things and trying to make more noise.

Harry flips his book over and glances at Zayn albeit reluctantly, “Hi.”

“Uh, so how are you? Feeling better?” Zayn feels like he’s a freshman asking Louisa Marker to the prom all over again.

“I’m doing all right, yeah. Sorry, did we have plans or?”

Harry has such a disarmingly pointed direction when he talks. The first day they met he said he tends to ramble but so far Zayn has found he flat out asks questions. Zayn’s approach has always been to dance around the main reasons of anything for at least ten minutes.

“No, no. I—I just walked by and saw you in the window. Thought I’d stop in.”

There’s no way in hell Zayn’s telling him the truth about why he’s there and technically he only came in because he saw Harry.

“Really?”

“Is it a crime now to come drink coffee with a friend?” Zayn smirks at him. “You’re so suspicious of me.”

“I always feel like I’m missing something with you. Like, you’ve got all these secrets you aren’t telling me.”

“Maybe I do.” Zayn shrugs.” I can tell you some of them, if you want.”

“Uh, no, that’s okay.”

Harry twists his rings around his fingers and Zayn wishes he could read him better. Maybe he’d know if Harry is antsy and about to escort Zayn out the front door or if he’s nervous to talk to Zayn. Maybe he just likes to twist his rings out of habit, the same way Zayn touches his nose stud too much or tugs on the hoops in his ears.

“So, how’d it go with the internet guy?”

“Oh, him,” Harry’s eyes light up a bit before squinting again, “Are you mocking me?”

“Can you stop assuming I’m out to get you or make fun of you? I’m honestly just curious.”

Zayn’s mom always tells him how hard it is to earn trust once it’s broken and he’s learning it the hard way with Harry.

“I told him I thought we should meet.”

“Good,” Zayn twists his hand around his coffee cup, “And?”

“He said he’s busy.”

“Busy? With what?”

“Like, a project. I guess. I didn’t respond. What was I supposed to say? Good luck with your project?”

Zayn purses his lips, “That’s always a nice thing to do. Unless his project is getting rid of his wife and kids so he can meet you.”

“He’s not married.”

“Of course not. You’ve probably asked and established the unmarried-ness factor already. Sorry.”

“I didn’t,” Harry closes his book on top of his computer and turns a little more towards Zayn. “I didn’t ask him that.”

“He could easily be married, then. He could be on his fourth marriage.” Zayn bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as confusion crosses Harry’s features. “Harry, I’m kidding,” he sets his hand on his arm and leaves it just for a moment. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Fuck. Fuck. What am I doing?” He puts his hands in his hair and fists it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Zayn suddenly feels like he’s talking a cat off the ledge of a building. A cat he purposely set on the ledge and tried to scare off the edge but whatever. “I’m completely sure it’s fine. If you’re worried, ask him if he’s married.”

“I’m not asking him if he’s married after all this time.”

“Fine. Date a married man.” Zayn shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee.

“He’s not—He can’t be.” Harry licks his bottom lip. “Wait, back up, we’re not dating either.”

“Okay, platonically talking to a married man. Anyways, what are you reading?”

It turns out Harry’s reading _Cuckoo’s Calling_ which Zayn gives him shit for considering the book has already been out for a few years.

Harry finally laughs at the snark and Zayn soaks it up, the way his mouth opens so wide his dimples poke in. He hasn’t seen him genuinely laugh like that since the day they first met and counts it as progress.

Harry says he was trying to stay away from the mainstream popularity of it before admitting he _knows_ how ridiculous he sounds. Zayn is starting to like just how self-aware Harry seems. He knows he’s eccentric but he isn’t trying to change it.

It’s with a reluctant sigh almost an hour later that Zayn says he has to leave to meet with a contractor for a new store in Connecticut. He’s learning to read Harry a little better and sees the flash of disappointment behind his eyes when Zayn gets up to leave.

“We should do something next week,” he says tapping his empty coffee cup on the edge of the table.

“Okay, yeah,” Harry nods and licks his lips.

Zayn’s not the best at telepathy but he stares at Harry in the moment of silence between them hoping he’ll suggest something for them to do. As fun as stalking him has been, Zayn would really appreciate a solid, co-collaborative plan.

“Would you, um, would you want to go to the farmer’s market? It’s in the park across from my store or the old store, I guess. I think you’d like it.”

“Yeah, let’s do that. What day?”

“It’s on Wednesday. Sorry, is that weird? I don’t have a normal schedule anymore.”

“Nope, perfect. I’ll be there.”

“Cool,” Harry nods, “So, see you there, then.”

“Okay,” Zayn nods right back at him before putting all of his energy into lifting his feet and walking away.

He’s past the point of crushing on Harry and he’s known that since the night in Sweet Tart even if he couldn’t admit it at the time. The only thing now is the thin line between earning Harry’s trust back and accidently snapping it all over again. As he walks back towards his apartment to change into more suitable clothes for his meeting he realizes how nervous he is about the thin line he’s made. The butterflies in his stomach suddenly have claws and only serve to remind him how much he already stands to lose if he messes this up.

++

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_It’s really late in the game for this but…you’re not married are you? Like with 11 kids and six ex-wives or something?_

_Like, I’m kidding but also…not._

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_Am I married? Babe, how can you even ask? Don’t you know me at all?_

_Wait, are your friends trying to make me out to be a married dude with three heads? Maybe you’re hanging with the wrong crowd._

++

Harry spots Zayn across the street when he’s on his way to meet Niall and his family for dinner. He’s running a little late but he doesn’t hesitate to cross to the other side, jogging a bit to catch up with Zayn.

“Zayn, hey,” he calls from behind him waving when Zayn slows down and looks back.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Harry thinks he looks happy to see him, and he pretends it doesn’t send a flash of heat in his stomach.

“Good, I’m good. Listen, he’s not married.”

“You said you weren’t going to ask!” Zayn’s nose crinkles when he smiles. Harry noticed back when he was trying to hate him but now he’s taken to categorizing things like that, like what makes Zayn’s eyes turn into half moons when he laughs versus when his nose scrunches up.

“You made me paranoid and I had to.”

“So he explicitly said, ‘I’m not married’?”

Harry grabs Zayn’s wrist and pulls him to the side of the sidewalk as a group of teenage girls swarm them on their way to who knows where.

“Well, yeah. Wait, no. He said I was hanging with the wrong crowd who was convincing me to ask him questions like that.”

“He sounds rude.” Zayn slides his hands in his pockets, “So he didn’t give you a direct answer, then?”

“He—“ Harry’s lips push together in a pout as his eyebrows pull together, “I guess, technically, no. But bonus points for him because he saw exactly what I was doing. He knows I’m hanging out with questionable people who are making me paranoid.”

Zayn laughs again, his head dropping back on his neck. “Okay, well, will you still questionably hang out with me at the farmer’s market, then?”

“I guess,” he puts his hands in his pockets to match Zayn, “I’m looking forward to it, actually.”

“Me too,” Zayn’s eyes go soft at the edges. “Meet around nine? I’ll even bring you coffee.”

Harry agrees to meet him by the red bench on the north end of the park and crosses back across the street to continue on his way. A cab nearly hits him but a smile has permanently glued itself on his face again, which, he decides, is a bigger cause for concern.

-

For being the one to suggest meeting at nine Zayn looks considerably disgruntled when he comes up to Harry just two minutes after with a coffee in each hand.

“Morning.” Harry tilts his head as Zayn rubs his eye with the back of his hand before handing him a cup.

“Morning,” Zayn half smiles but then he’s drinking his coffee and Harry loses sight of his expression.

“Are you—do you want to, like, sit down?” Harry gestures to the red bench and Zayn shakes his head.

“No, no, sorry,” he yawns over the words. “I’m an awful morning person. Like, fuckin’ terrible. But I’ve got coffee so I should be fine now. “

Harry wants to tell him he’s the one who picked their time to meet but Zayn did bring him coffee so he’s not about to be that guy. He directs Zayn to start moving towards the market already bustling with people though not as many as the Saturday version of it.

“How are you? Sorry I didn’t even ask.” Zayn tacks another soft smile on the end of his words. It’s another thing Harry is categorizing now, his smiles. Zayn seems all sharp edges and business but then he has a way of making his face go soft and fond Harry starting to look for more and more.

“I’m good, thanks. You’re obviously tired,” Harry grins at him but stops before he tells him he still looks really hot because, well, he doesn’t want to give into Zayn that easily, not when everyone else in the world probably drops to their knees at first sight. “Did you have a late night or are mornings actually your kryptonite?”

“Kryptonite? Look at you and your superhero vocab.”

Harry smirks and pulls the sunglasses on top of his head down over his eyes for something to do. He’s watched more superhero movies than he knows what to do with—all for Nyaz who still hasn’t agreed to meet him.

“But, um, yeah, kind of late night. I was working on something in my studio actually.”

“Painting?” Harry points at Zayn’s hand wrapped around his coffee cup, dried paint on a couple of his fingers.

“Oh, fuck I thought I got it all,” Zayn follows his gaze.

“I didn’t know that you paint.”

Harry pauses at one of the booths full of knitted tea cozies. He and Gemma used to buy them for their hamster when they were younger. They always imagined it was like a cocoon for him. Unfortunately, he chewed through one of the tea cozies and choked on the strings. Harry keeps his pause momentary before walking away from the little death traps.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Zayn raises his eyebrows and lifts his drink to his lips. Harry stops and stares at him even as he keeps moving forward.

“You keep saying that!” Harry widens his gait to catch up. “If you’re a member of the CIA you should tell me. I’m an excellent secret keeper as long as no one asks me questions related to the secret.”

Zayn laughs at that, shaking his head as they stop at one of the booths overflowing with summer berries. “I just mean that, like, you’d find out there’s more to me than business if you took the time to know me.”

“If I—I am taking the time,” Harry spins in a circle and nearly bumps a mom and her daughter hustling past. “This is quality, farmer’s market, getting to know Zayn time.”

“Okay, you’re right. You are making an effort.” They walk on in comfortable silence for a moment before Zayn looks over at him, “This seems counterintuitive but can I ask why you’re doing it?”

“You want me to be your friend and now you’re questioning my friendship?” Harry smirks over the edge of his coffee.

“Shut up.” Zayn absently runs his hands along one of the booths as they pass.

Harry shrugs. “It’s like you said when you barged in my house,” he laughs at Zayn’s warning look. “When I met you, before I knew who you were, I liked you. I guess I’m not in the business of making enemies.”

“Good.” Zayn nods once like he’s got some sort of inner turmoil Harry can’t quite see.

“Great. Now, come with me, I have to show you something.”

Harry takes Zayn on a tour of the different booths, his favorites in particular. He can hardly believe Zayn hasn’t been before.

They both end up buying berries at one of the stands and Harry watches in giddy amusement as the woman who owns the stand flirts shamelessly with Zayn. Harry is more than sure he knows how pretty he is but he can tell it still catches Zayn off guard when a woman his mother’s age starts suggesting fruit-based innuendos. He all but runs Harry over backing out of the tent while Harry tries, and fails, to conceal his laughter.

A little deeper into the market, Harry helps Zayn pick out hand drawn coloring books for his niece and nephew and then Zayn watches Harry try on an entire rack of different sunglasses without buying any of them.

Conversation flows easily between them, like they’ve known each other longer than they really have. Harry tells Zayn about the jobs he’s looking for and a little bit about his family but mostly he likes to hear Zayn’s stories about his sisters. He has three, like Nyaz, which Harry points out.

“Nyaz? Is that his name?”

Harry nods and hands Zayn the bag of kettle corn he just bought before grabbing one for himself. He’s sure it’s the best kettle corn in the world and made Zayn promise to try it with him.

“Yeah, well, like that’s his name on his e-mail.”

They walk over to another bench and sit down stretching their legs out in front of them.

“And what’s your name on your e-mail? I’m guessing it’s not Harry?”

“Nope. Not telling you.” Harry shakes his head and tries to catch a piece of kettle corn in his mouth at the same time. The kettle corn settles on the top edge of his shirt and he twists his neck to catch it with his tongue. Zayn’s lips twitch as he watches him before he glances away but Harry notices.

“Why aren’t you telling me?”

“It feels weird and it’s also an incredibly embarrassing name. I literally made up an e-mail address that night when we traded them. Like, that e-mail is purely for him.”

“That sounds—like romantic? Or something along those lines,” Zayn laughs when Harry looks offended. “So you really don’t know who he is?”

“No idea.”

“He could be anyone?”

“Technically. I know he lives in New York and he works in the city. But we try not to go too specific.”

“He could be in this park right now,” Zayn looks around quickly. “He could be that dude right there.”

He points a guy in tiny yellow shorts lying in the grass a few paces from them and Harry frowns.

“You could pass him everyday, talk to him even, and not know it’s him.”

“I know,” Harry’s head falls back on his neck and his sunglasses slide a little. “It’s kind of romantic like that, yeah? Like, we have this deep connection, or whatever, we’ve built online and I could easily walk past him every day without noticing. Fell in love with his mind first and all that.”

“Love? That’s a lot for cyberspace.”

“Yeah, its probably too big. So maybe not love.”

“He might not even be real after all.”

Harry turns to look at Zayn. He’s so bound and determined to freak Harry out about Nyaz and he’s starting to accomplish it.

“Catfishing me, you still think that?”

“Robot who has taken over his owner’s computer and corresponds with unsuspecting men.” He says it like he’s been thinking on it for a while.

“I’ll take it.”

“What?” Zayn looks over at him suddenly and it makes Harry laugh. He feels like he’s trying to constantly throw Zayn off since he does so well at flustering Harry effortlessly.

“There are worse things,” Harry shrugs. He hold up his little bag of kettle corn, half gone because it’s actually his favorite. “You like it?”

“S’good,” Zayn says before putting a handful in his mouth as if to prove it.

“I know.” Harry stands up to keep them moving; there are still at least five booths he needs to show Zayn.

When they reach the edge of the park again they both have bags of produce and other random things they decided they needed.

“Let’s hang out again soon, yeah?” Zayn looks at Harry from under his eyelashes, which seems unfair from Harry’s perspective though he’s not complaining.

“My schedule is wide open. As you know since you made it that way.”

There’s a moment when Harry can read Zayn’s eyes perfectly--the flash of anger, as they get darker.

“Can you fucking stop with that?”

“What?” Harry raises his eyebrows, suddenly confused.

“I’m trying to be your friend and your holding a business decision over my head. It’s not like I personally closed your store or I came after you specifically, targeted you or whatever,” Zayn leans in towards him. “It was a business deal. A business deal coordinated by so many more people other than me. It wasn’t personal and you keep holding it against me.”

“I’m—“ Harry’s at a loss for words but when he shakes his head they start to filter through again like a hose that was folded in half. “I’m not fucking apologizing if that’s what you think. You realize that store was my job, right? It was my family’s store, yeah, but it was how I made money, it was how everyone who worked there made a living. It may not be personal to you but it was fucking personal to me. Sorry if I can’t directly kiss your ass after you take everything away from me.”

Harry’s cheeks have gone red but he’s getting better at the whole confrontation deal. Somehow Zayn pushes every single one of his buttons to record levels to stick up for himself.

“It’s not me,” Zayn hits his chest and takes a step back.

They’re both keeping their voices low as to not cause a scene but their tension in their tones and the rigid set of their jaws gives them away.

“I don’t know how else to fucking explain it, Harry. Malik’s Books is a company but it’s not _me._ I have almost no stake in decisions other than to make sure our stores are serving our customers. It’s business. Money and numbers not emotions.”

Harry rolls his eyes, then. “Alright, well, maybe we shouldn’t be friends then. If all I ever was came down to was money and numbers.”

“Are you actually blowing this out of proportion right now?” Zayn evens his gaze at Harry just as hard as that night outside of the convenience store.

Harry shakes his head, “And you’re actually coming at me over a throwaway comment. Sorry for trying to make light of a shitty situation.” He takes a step back and right before he turns away he manages, “Nice to know if anyone cut you open all they’d find is hundred dollar bills. I knew I was right about you.”

The last part comes out a little more dejected sounding than he wants but he turns on his heel and leaves Zayn standing there speechless.

Halfway to his apartment his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out to check the messages, clicking on the first e-mail notification right away. He reads the message three times before shoving it back in his pocket, his heart barely missing a beat.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_We need to meet. Next week?_

++

Zayn shouldn’t have sent it at the moment he did. Not when he could feel the thrum of his heart beating erratically in his ears and still see Harry’s broad shoulders winding back through the crowd at the market. Not when he was so angry he wanted to give up the secret to make Harry just as mad he was.

No, he thinks as he walks home, that was definitely not the right time to make the Big Decision.

Back at his apartment he throws the phone across his bed with a frustrated huff as he strips down to shower. He stands under the hot spray for less than a minute before he goes back to his room and grabs for his phone, dripping water in a very soppy path as he goes.  
He opens a new message to Louis and sends: _come over. 911._

It takes him less than thirty seconds in his walk back to the shower before he turns around and grabs his phone again, _not an actual 911. Just come over_ , because there’s no predicting what Louis will do in an actual emergency.

Zayn just about scalds his own skin as he showers trying to figure out how to reorganize his latest mess. If he thought he had a plan, Harry’s blown it to pieces yet again.

Harry has a point to what he said, Zayn isn’t too blind to admit. He gets the fact Harry no longer has a store or a steady income; He’s not an idiot. But he also knows its not healthy to have someone who will just hold one thing over his head without letting him move forward. Adding in his already too deep crush on Harry and intense infatuation over BookCat94, not to mention they’re the same person, and he’s starting to feel the edges of a headache.

He leans his forehead against the wall of the shower until his brain starts functioning enough for him to remember how to turn off the water and get out.

When Louis comes flying in Zayn’s front door using his spare key, Zayn is on the couch in sweats and a hoodie with his head tipped back and eyes shut. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to already know its Louis since he’s talking the second the lock turns.

“Never text me 911. That’s an awful thing to text someone. I didn’t even know what to do so I brought whisky, weed and Avengers, the first one.”

Zayn tips his head forward to see Louis’ flushed cheeks and arms full, he smiles slowly.

“This is why you’re my best friend. Weed, whiskey and superheroes.”

Louis lifts it all up and grins, “I’m really great. Don’t even tell me because you’re going to tell me something else instead. And _that_ is the reason why you look like you’ve had your glasses smashed on the playground.”

“I don’t even have my glasses on and I’m pretty sure no one’s ever smashed them.”

“Taking it too literally, Zayn. Too fucking literally.” Louis sets his supplies on the table and steps over Zayn’s propped up legs to get to the other side of the couch.

Zayn prefaces the story with, “I’ll tell you but you have to stay quiet until the end. No opinions in the middle,” before catching Louis up.

He finishes with an exaggerated wave of his hand as Louis stares at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry am I allowed to speak now?” He barely pauses long enough for Zayn to rolls his eyes before he continues. “Basically, internet Harry still likes you, real life Harry thinks you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah.”

“And you just asked internet Harry to meet you so, technically, he is about to merge with real Harry who thinks you’re an asshole and you’re going to end up alone.”

“That’s a very depressing way to put it.”

“Let me just pause here to remind you the value of telling the truth and not leading double lives.”

“Okay but, Louis, if I had gone that night I found out it was him at Sweet Heart or Tart or whatever and told him who I really was he would have been like ‘Fuck off, dude.’”

“True. So instead you waited, almost got to the point where he might be happy to know it was you and now you’re back in ‘Fuck off, dude’ territory.”

“Yes,” Zayn groans the word and puts his hands over his face.

“But you like him enough to ask him to meet you?”

“Well, yeah. Like, clearly we don’t get along on a business level at all.”

“Which is fine. Lawyers get married all the time,” Louis says easily as if it’s relevant to the conversation.

Zayn brushes over his comment with a squint of his eyes, “Sure. My thing now is Harry, internet version, hasn’t responded to my message.”

“Internet Harry doesn’t know who you are, babe. You are Nyaz, not asshole Zayn. He probably just hasn’t had time to respond.”

“This sucks.”

“Yep.” Louis nods. Zayn’s not sure why he expected Louis to give him anything else.

“What do I _do_ , Lou? _This_ is the 911. Like, I fought with Harry and set up a meeting to guilt trip him in the same five minutes.”

“Well, admittedly, that was a dumb move. But now you have to see what happens. Internet Harry may never talk to you again and real Harry might not talk to you again either,” he shrugs and grabs for the bag weed off the table. “You can’t worry about things you can’t control.”

“Right. Do you have any other lifelines I can borrow? That was the worst fucking advice I’ve heard.”

“Probably because it wasn’t advice, it was facts. Now, please put this movie in and let me get high in your presence as a reward for my help.”

“I hate you.”

Still, Zayn pulls himself from the couch and puts in the movie, one of his favorites even for his mood. It turns out he can’t even watch. Not with the intense focus it takes to refresh his e-mail after each time he passes the joint back and forth with Louis. He gets so high he falls asleep with his phone clutched in his hand, eyes blinking slowly around the swirls of smoke over his head.

-

It takes two days for Harry to respond to Zayn’s message. Two days of Zayn trying to do anything but think about his e-mail. His dad is over the moon with the amount of time Zayn is willing to spend on the new Hartford branch of Malik’s Books, accompanying him to Connecticut both days for meetings and interviews.

At the end of the second day, Zayn resigns himself to never speaking to Harry again and less than a minute later his iPad makes the annoying wind chime sound under his pillow. The speed at which he whips the iPad into his hands only reminds him how fucked he is for Harry. Harry, who has insulted him to his face, and embarrassed him on TV but Harry, who wears a crown while reading to kids, and picks wild flowers because they remind him of his mom.

FROM: BookCat94

TO: NYAZ112

_Pick a day, and I’ll be there._

Zayn tries to wait longer than thirty seconds to respond but its no use, his fingers tapping out a message before his brain even tries to catch up.

FROM: NYAZ112

TO: BookCat94

_I’m thinking Saturday. You pick the place._

He spends the next day debating everything wrong with the situation he’s created. On one hand, if he meets Harry with the way things ended at the market, he’ll lose him for good, he’s sure. At the same time, he’s starting to wonder if what he’s doing I even fair—controlling how and when they’ll meet and under what circumstances.

He’s trying to take Louis’ advice of just letting things fall where they may but he’s never been one to keep his hands out of a plan.

It turns out he doesn’t get the chance to make a bigger mess of things or think of another plan that inevitably won’t work. That night he walks out of his apartment to the instantly recognizable outline of Harry sitting on his front steps. He knows it’s him by his shoulders and hair, his well-loved KISS shirt, and his Green Bay Packers beanie; which doesn’t match but Zayn wont be the one to tell him.

Zayn takes great pleasure in the jolt he causes when he sits down beside Harry on the concrete step. Harry puts a hand on his chest as he catches his breath and Zayn tries not to look too smug.

It’s in that moment of Harry staring at him, eyes wide but his dimple just starting to show, Zayn realizes he can’t stay mad at him. Not if he’s just planning to show up on his doorstep when he least expects it making some juxtaposed fashion statement Zayn doesn’t understand.

“Hi.” Harry says it right away over his smile even as Zayn can tell he’s trying to pull his mouth back to a neutral position.

“Were you planning to sit out here all night?” Zayn asks instead of responding because he still wants to be an asshole, apparently. Pride on the line and all that.

“Niall only new the general complex,” Harry bites at his lip. “I just—I had to come find you because I want to apologize.”

Zayn purses his lips because, fuck his pride, Harry’s already eaten his, he might as well join him. “I think we were both kind of dicks about it.”

Harry looks surprised to hear him admit it but continues on, “I mean, yeah. I’m obviously still bitter about all that has happened, like that’s not going to go away over night, you know? But I did run a business and I know why everything has happened the way it did. Like, from that aspect. And I don’t mean to take it out on you, that’s not necessarily fair and I get that. I do. ”

“I’m not the business asshole you think I am,” Zayn runs a hand back through his hair, pulling away when a ring snags on a strand. “My dad wants to kill me half the time because I don’t really—I don’t work in numbers and charts and graphs and shit. I’m way more into the emotional side, which isn’t conducive to a successful business model. I don’t like what we do and how it hurts other people, you know? At the same time, its just business. I’m still a good person or I like to think so at least.”

“Couldn’t cut you open and find one hundred dollar bills, then?” Harry looks straight ahead when he says it but there is a joking lift to his tone, his knee knocking against the side of Zayn’s.

“Unfortunately just blood and guts.”

“Me too,” Harry looks at him conspiratorially, like they share something bigger than basic human anatomy.

“Thanks, you know, for coming to find me,” Zayn says after a beat of silence between them.

“I don’t have your number,” Harry shrugs, easy as that. Zayn wants to say it makes him a bigger person to physically track him down when he didn’t have his number but _he_ is the one that has stalked Harry on multiple occasions too.

“Give me your phone.” Zayn takes it and notices the background is a picture of the painted sign on Harry’s old store. He enters his number and hands it back with a smirk. “Now you do. I was just heading to run an errand, actually, if you want to come?”

“I have an appointment but I can walk over with you.”

Zayn nods and stands up dusting his hands over his pants as he does.

“Um, so, he wants to meet, again. Nyaz.” Harry says when they hit the sidewalk.

“Really?” Zayn goes for his most convincing surprised face.

Yeah, but like, he asked me to pick what we do and I have no idea what to say.”

Zayn keeps his face composed even though he’s been worried about Harry’s lack of response being more of a way to back out altogether.

“And, what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Harry throws his head back on his neck and rubs his face as they pause at a crosswalk. “Like, obviously some place public.”

“Since he might be a robot, yeah.” Zayn smiles but he’s not sure if Harry sees it as they dodge across the street.

“Right.” Zayn doesn’t miss the way he rolls his eyes. “What if we met at, like, the beach?”

Zayn stops and looks at him, “The beach? So he can drown you in the ocean and no one will know?”

“Honestly, Zayn. Is that what you would do if I met you at the beach?”

“You’d never find me at the beach. Scared of open water.”

“I have a friend—him, Nyaz. He’s scared of water too.”

”And you want to make him go to the beach? Really?” Zayn raises his eyebrows as they slow in front of the Hobby Shop.

“Okay, okay, bad idea.” Harry holds up his hands as he laughs. “Do you think the park is a terrible idea? Does it make me seem boring?”

“Harry. If he thinks you’re boring because you want to meet at the park, he’s going to think you’re boring. Too late to go changing now.”

“I know. I just like him and I want it to be good. I mean I like what he types so that could be like an online cover for him being truly awful. Oh god.”

Zayn can see he’s starting to panic again just like he did in that coffee shop when Zayn tried to mess with him on purpose.

“It’s a public place. If he’s terrible then you turn around and leave. There are no strings or anything. Super casual.”

“Right, yeah.” Harry nods but he’s biting his lips and his eyes have gone wonky.

Zayn’s really got him flustered with his conspiracy theories, which wasn’t exactly his intention. It was more to throw him off any sort of trail Zayn may have made before he was ready and make him adorably bite his lip, not look like a deer in headlights.

“Let’s get lunch this week. We can talk about it more and you can stop freaking out so much,” Zayn puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder but he just nods some more.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“You sound nuts.”

“I am. Zayn, have you heard anything I’ve said? I’m meeting a man I met on the _internet_ talking about garbage disposals.”

“A love story in the making.”

“Murder mystery.”

Zayn laughs and puts his other hand on Harry’s shoulders to push him away. “Go call Niall and worry him with your theories.”

“I can’t. He’ll call the police on a hunch, I don’t want him arresting my future murderer-slash-boyfriend.”

Zayn blinks at him and then pushes him at little further, “Optimistic. Go, babe.”

“Okay, I’m going. I’ll text you about lunch.”

Harry kneels down to pet a dog halfway to the next corner, grinning at the owner as he jumps up at him. Zayn shakes his head and goes into the store. On second thought, as he heads to the paint aisle, its better Harry didn’t come in with him.

++

Harry should have someone organize his life. Or he should take that up in his free time—life organization. He scheduled meeting Zayn for lunch at noon and meeting Nyaz at three. It should be plenty of time but as he’s running to meet Zayn he feels licks of anxiety in his stomach.

It’s a big day. It’s a huge day. It could be the day he gets kidnapped in the back of a white van.

He shakes his head at his own inner monologue realizing he looks crazy running and shaking his head. He slows down a bit even though he’s not sure he cares what people think.

Harry finds Zayn in the corner booth of Rita’s and slides in across from him still trying to catch his breath. He’s never late but today he’s making all kinds of exceptions. He takes in Zayn’s leather jacket with a grey hood over a Pink Floyd shirt. He looks like a model but that’s probably because he _always_ looks like a model.

“How are you?” Zayn asks messing with the specials sign in the middle of the table as Harry downs the glass of water near his elbow.

“I’m meeting Nyaz today. He changed it.” Harry wipes his mouth with his hand. They were supposed to meet Saturday but something, evidently, had come up.

“That’s okay,” Zayn smiles, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You know, you go from making me shit my pants over meeting him to making it sound like it’s nothing.”

“I know,” Zayn traces something on the table, “I just want it to be good for you, you know? I know I fuck with you a lot but, yeah.”

“Me too,” Harry finally admits out loud. “I’ve built it up in my head so many times and now I just want to get it over with, you know. I want to either be like, ‘Hey, you’re awesome, let’s go get a drink’ or ‘Dude, what the fuck, go away’. Whatever it’s going to be, I just want it to happen.”

“Is it this afternoon or tonight?”

“Afternoon. Three.”

“Oh shit, that’s soon. I already ordered nachos when I got here so you should be good on time.”

“How’d you know to order ahead?”

“I didn’t.” He tugs on his earring. “I have a meeting this afternoon too, just thought I’d save us time.”

“I like your thinking,” Harry says. “Um, so, can you tell me more about that position you text me about?”

It had been in the middle of the day when Zayn sent him a link to a job posting with no other text. Malik’s Books is searching for a children’s book buyer. Harry had been hesitant to even pursue it but the longer the thought lingered in his mind the more curious he became about expanding his own opportunities.

Zayn sitting across from him explaining the position and how perfect Harry is for it sends excited bubbles erupting in his stomach. Even though he hasn’t been directly bred into big business books, his small time experiences of owning a store have lined him up perfectly, according to Zayn. Harry is also sure Zayn could sell ice to a polar bear but he doesn’t mind listening to his sales pitch, especially when it’s laced with compliments directed right at him.

“Are you—are you on the hiring committee for it?” Harry asks eating some of the left over cheese on the plate as Zayn pays the bill. He’d slapped Harry’s hand when he tried to reach for it.

“No, I do the retail side, not headquarters,” he says. Harry watches him sign the check, Zayn’s tongue slipping between his lips as he does.

“Right,” Harry licks his finger.

“I could obviously put in a good word and Niall could do an employee rec.”

“No, no, I don’t want that,” Harry shakes his head quickly. “Like if I do it, I want to do it on my own. No pulling strings or secret glances or dropping names or anything.”

“Totally up to you,” Zayn says setting the pen down. “I think you’re more than ready either way, regardless what company it’s for.”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry smirks at him, sliding out of the booth. He knows he’ll apply if nothing else than to explore the possibility. It feels good to finally be excited about something professionally again.

Zayn offers to walk with Harry to his apartment and Harry’s starting to get too nervous to ask him if that’s even in the direction he’s heading.

Zayn must be able to sense the tension as they walk. “Nervous?”

“Yeah,” Harry tries to smile through it. “Excited nervous, I guess.”

“I’m sure it’ll be good, better than good.” Zayn puts his hands in his pockets as they walk.

“It’s kind of weird. Like, a few months ago I thought I had things figured out in my life and now everything’s up in the air and I’m just standing in the dark trying to find a light switch. It feels like the sun is going to break soon though, you know? Meeting Nyaz, that job we were just talking about—it seems like everything is heading to a good place.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows at him and smiles slowly, “You’re sounding quite optimistic today.”

“I’m trying,” Harry says on an exhale. The past couple of months have taken a lot out of him and he’s ready for things to change, for things to get better.

They finish the walk to Harry’s apartment in companionable silence. Harry doesn’t do silences well, always wants to fill them even if it’s just with mindless babble. With Zayn he doesn’t feel compelled to do it, though. He’s not worried about what he’s thinking; he’s just enjoying Zayn’s company.

“This is me,” Harry says when they get there as if Zayn doesn’t know. He’s thankful the blowjob guy isn’t sitting by the door because Zayn’s face is suddenly serious. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he runs his hands down the front of his jeans, “Listen. I know this is bad timing but I have to say something. I was just thinking about if we had met when you were just Harry and I was just Zayn. Like, no bad blood between our businesses or anything like that, if we were just normal people.”

“I like to consider myself normal,” Harry touches his chest and grins but Zayn’s face stays serious.

“I would have asked for your number that first day. I would have called you on the way home because I wouldn’t have been able to wait. I’d want to hear the way your laugh bursts out of you again or talk to you about books or baking or who knows what. We would never have fought over business or money. We’d fight about dumb stuff like what movie to watch or what food cart to try. It’d be lazy Sundays and coffee on Tuesday mornings, getting drunk and going to concerts and eating kabobs at three in the morning. It’d be everything. And I just, I don’t know, I had to say something.”

Harry nods because he doesn’t know what else to do. He wants to agree, wants to tell Zayn to start all over with him but he holds his tongue. Physically holds his tongue with his teeth until he tastes the bitter metal tinge of blood.

His eyes move slowly over Zayn’s face and drop to his lips. He wants to lean in and kiss him, pretend they really did meet as just Harry and Zayn. It’s almost like there is an invisible force behind him pushing him forward, even as Zayn’s tongue darts out against his lips.

As fast as it comes, it breaks. Harry takes a step back and clears his throat.

“I—I, uh, have to go.” He points over his shoulder for visual reference and Zayn clears his throat too.

“Yep, right, I know. Good luck, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry says taking big steps to the front door. Rushing to get to the lobby so he doesn’t turn around and go back to Zayn.

++

Zayn is going to throw up. He is most definitely on the verge of puking nachos all over the street. He stops suddenly, much to the disgruntled displeasure of a man behind him who slams into his back as he moves closer to the wall of the bagel shop and out of the way.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters. He runs his suddenly clammy hands up and down the front of his pants, and tries to take a deep breath.

It’s _Harry_. He’s meeting Harry just like he met Harry three hours ago at Rita’s. He’s been repeating the same phrases to himself over and over since Harry left him standing outside his apartment.

The thing is, Zayn had meant to say all of that stuff outside of his apartment and not have to do the whole park meeting reveal thing. The whole point of spilling his guts on the sidewalk like that had been to cause some sort of revelation from Harry—maybe an _aha_ moment where Harry told him he likes him too and then he could have revealed his identity as Nyaz in a laughing way.

As usual, Harry blew up his plan without even knowing it.

All he got was a pause from Harry where he stared right at Zayn’s lips before shaking his head and stepping back. The pause. Zayn’s hope was currently riding on that pause, the moment of question when maybe Harry wanted the same things he did. Unless, of course, the pause was Harry marveling at Zayn’s mental instability in which case he suddenly hates the pause.

He keeps walking because he’s actually going to be late if he stops every ten steps to quell the panic in his chest.

Louis called him right before he left and said he should be ready to duck when Harry finds out he’s known he’s BookCat94 for the last two months.

“You’re saying he might punch me?” Zayn had been buttoning his shirt and paused momentarily to roll his eyes.

“I’m saying it’s a real possibility since you’re wanting to build a relationship on betrayal.”

Zayn ended the call without putting in the effort to humor Louis. It wasn’t betrayal, not really. If Harry feels like it is and doesn’t want to try for a real thing, then it wasn’t meant to me. Doesn’t mean it would hurt any less.

He gets to the edge of the park and stops again. There’s a curve on the far side where Harry said he would be. He takes a deep breath and pats at his coat pocket before heading down into the park. He twists around families out enjoying one of the first warm days of summer before the humidity becomes unbearable.

When he cuts off to the path leading to the curve he finds it practically empty compared to the main stretch. It gives him the time to calm his beating heart though he’s not sure slapping his chest is exactly the right way to go about it.

At the beginning edge of the curve it feels like his brain is short-circuiting as he takes slow, deliberate steps around it. He pauses by a blue bench in the middle, finding the entire curve just as deserted as the path he’s walked off of.

He glances over his shoulder to the path on the opposite side before sitting down, the dull sounds of the rest of the park seeming miles away. His knees start to bounce so he grips them with his fingers trying to stop them.

He imagines Harry being freaked out by both Zayn and Nyaz and packing his bags as Zayn waits in the park, planning to disappear to LA for good. His nightmare bubble is popped when he hears the slapping of feet coming up with path he just came off.

He looks up as Harry comes hurtling into view, literally running before stopping short. Zayn watches him glance around before looking over towards the bench. He’s got his black jeans and boots with a multi-colored shirt unbuttoned clear down his chest, hair flying all directions.

“Zayn?” He doesn’t seem particularly confused or excited when he says it, more curious than anything.

“Hi,” Zayn walks towards him reaching in his pocket and grasping the cool metal of a fork between his fingers. It had been a split second decision as he was leaving his apartment, a decision he questioned on the entire walk as being borderline ridiculous. He pulls it out with a slow smile, Harry’s eyes brushing down from Zayn’s to look at his hand.

“A fork?” Now Harry looks confused, his eyebrows shooting up immediately.

“I heard your garbage disposal might have mangled one of yours.”

It’s something else to watch Harry process multiple emotions all at once, the way his face changes—eyebrows furrowing, lips pulling together and then his nose scrunching—before he starts laughing, big and loud, the sound bursting from him as he moves his hand to clutch at his stomach. Zayn notices he’s holding a bunch of wild flowers in his hand and it makes something shift hard in his chest.

When Harry keeps laughing until he’s nearly gasping Zayn starts to question if things are actually going horribly wrong without him realizing it.

Maybe Harry senses it as he straightens back up with his lips twitching, “It’s you, then.”

“It’s me.” Zayn smiles slowly and holds his hands out to his sides just a bit.

“The whole walk here I was imagining it was you,” Harry swallows over the words, the heavy weight of the emotion in his voice settling the nerves in Zayn’s stomach almost immediately.

He reaches forward to rest his fingertips on the back of Harry’s arm crossed over his stomach, over his rose tattoo as light as he can.

“Yeah?” Zayn tries to remember to breathe as his eyes search Harry’s face.

“Hoping, wishing, bargaining at God with good behavior or money to charity if it could just be you. I just, I wished it would be.”

He uses he free hand to reach forward and touch Zayn’s face, running his fingertips lightly down the side like he’s deciding if he’s real. His hand runs down the side of Zayn’s neck, stopping when he can run his thumb along his jaw.

“I thought you might have figured it out already,” Zayn says trying not to close his eyes over the pressure on his skin. He can’t count how many people have touched his face in his life but never has a thumb felt so charged against him.

“How would I have done that?” Harry tilts his head just slightly, smirking just enough for a dimple to show.

“My e-mail address,” his fingertips move up a little more to hold Harry’s wrist, drawing circles on the back of his hand with his finger. “Nyaz?”

“Is it,” Harry pauses and purses his lips, “Is it, like, Urdu?” Zayn forgot he’d even told him he could speak it.

“It’s Zayn spelled backwards, babe.”

He laughs when Harry drops his head back on his neck with a groan, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No, I’m really not.” Zayn is still laughing even as Harry’s fingers curl against the back of his neck.

“I’m an idiot,” he says it just before his tongue brushes over his lips, eyes focused on Zayn’s mouth, blinking slowly as he leans in closer.

Holding Zayn’s face steady against his hand, Harry closes the space between their faces. So slow Zayn can hear Harry’s breath hitch in the spasm of a second before their lips touch. Harry’s lips are as soft as they look and Zayn leans in further until their chests touch, hands trapped between them. Zayn is still clutching the fork as he grabs at Harry’s hip, shifting his head to deepen the kiss.

“Ouch, fuck,” Harry pulls away and twists to look behind him. He drops his hand from Zayn’s neck and takes the fork from where it’s nestled against his back.

“And you said I wouldn’t have to worry about meeting a serial killer,” he laughs, his eyes nearly shining with is.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Zayn laughs right back at him, running his fingertips over the low part of Harry’s back he had, evidently, jabbed.

Harry tries to kiss him again but they’re both useless, laughing against each other’s mouths, teeth catching on lips and noses just barely touching.

“These are for you,” Harry says when he finally manages to kiss Zayn again without either of them laughing and takes a step back.

“Wild flowers?” Zayn takes them and offers Harry his fork with a small smile.

“I wasn’t planning it but there were so many as I was walking here,” Harry shrugs twisting his fingers with Zayn’s low between their hips. “Felt like maybe my mom was telling me she likes you.”

Zayn kisses him again then, nothing big just gentle as he squeezes his hand back.

“You’re not mad, right? That it’s me?”

Harry must hear the uncertainty in his voice, pulling their hands together around his back until they're so close their legs touch.

“Haven’t we been over this? Like the opposite of mad.”

“I knew it was you, though and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t—I wasn’t sure if it was overstepping,” Zayn looks down at their feet, Harry’s toes pointing towards each other.

“Yeah. Well, I hadn’t actually thought about that so—“

His hesitation makes Zayn look up again but his eyes are shining with laughter again, “I don’t, like, I don’t really care. Genuinely.” He catches the corner of Zayn’s mouth with his lips and a slow smile.

“So, what now?” Harry asks when he moves back, his thumb drawing circles on Zayn’s hand this time.

“Did you expect me to have a big grand plan?”

“No, I don’t know. Do we just go hang out somewhere? This is very anti-climactic, really.”

“Harry Styles, you should know I’m never anti-climactic.” He watches Harry as he says it and likes the way his cheeks flush slightly when he smirks. “But, I guess, my plan was to ask you if you’ll go on a date with me?”

“You’re asking me out? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Everything we’ve been through? It was the internet not war.”

Harry rolls his eyes at the mocking tone of Zayn’s voice.

“But yeah, I am. I want to do it the way I would have if I hadn’t met you on the stupid internet. So, will you?”

“Well, yeah. Right now or what?”

“No, like in a couple of days.”

“Uh,” Harry rolls his lip under his teeth, “I don’t want to seem like a Desperate Debbie—“

“It’s usually Debbie Downer but continue.”

“Whatever. But I waited like six months to meet you and I don’t really want to wait to hang out now that I know. You’ve known this entire time and I want to be able to enjoy it now that I know—well, now that I know you’re you.”

“Harry, babe,” Zayn grabs at the cross necklace hanging on Harry’s chest, tugging slightly, “It wasn’t enjoyable, really—stalking you and lying to you and living a double life and all.”

Harry raises a dubious eyebrow and it makes Zayn grin.

“Okay, maybe it was kind of funny. But it really was scary too. I didn’t want to lose you over doing something stupid. I mean, I do and say a lot of stupid shit but you still seem to like me, I guess.”

“Make me wait two days, you’ll see what happens.” Harry tries, and fails, to look particularly stern.

“You waited six months, you honestly can’t wait two more days?” Zayn barks out a laugh when Harry pouts his bottom lip. “Don’t pout at me.”

Harry smirks instead, grabbing Zayn’s face and kissing him. It’s hard and fast, Harry’s tongue against his lips until he can press inside Zayn’s mouth, and they can trace the finer lines of each others’ tongues. When Harry pulls back, they’re both breathing hard, Zayn’s cheeks nearly as pink as Harry’s.

“You really want to wait?” Harry cocks his head to the side and Zayn rolls his eyes as he laughs.

“No, actually.” He tucks a piece of Harry’s hair behind his ear, “But I’ve kind of had a plan. Like, I’ve been thinking it through and stuff and—“

“Okay, yeah, no let’s do that.” Harry concedes suddenly, too curious about what Zayn’s planned to pass it up, “I’m excited.”

“I mean, I was just thinking of dinner at my place but,” Zayn touches Harry’s chest, tracing one of the inked birds he can see with his fingertip, “I’m super excited too.”

“Don’t mock me,” Harry sighs.

“I’m not. I couldn’t ever possibly mock you--”

Zayn gets interrupted as Harry kisses him again, backing him against the nearest light pole as his lips run along his jaw and down his neck. Zayn, all but helpless, hooks on to Harry by the belt loops of his jeans with his fingers.

They jump apart when a pack of moms with strollers come through the area, talking loudly. They give each other sly smiles; Harry patting down his hair after Zayn tangled it in knots with his hands.

++

Harry: _please let me bring something. please, please, please_

Zayn: NO. again.

Harry: _TELL ME SOMETHING TO BRING. begging you._

Zayn: no. but wouldn’t hate to see you beg, babe. ahah. x.

Harry _: xxxxxxxxxx._

Harry sets his phone on his dresser with a smile as Niall rambles from his bed.

“I had a feeling it was him, I’m telling you.”

“Right.” Harry rolls his eyes tugging on a shirt from his closet—white with drippy black dots. Niall’s been trying to convince him for the last three days he knew Nyaz and Zayn were the same person. Harry has yet to believe him.

“Those look like little sperm guys on your shirt,” Niall points out before going on. “But, yeah, it was a gut feeling more than anything.”

“Do they really?” Harry glances down as he does up the bottom five buttons. He squints his eyes and—yeah, maybe they do. He shrugs anyways running his hands back through his hair, which has decided to dry quite fluffy for tonight.

Zayn’s made him wait three days for their technical first date. Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when Zayn told him “a couple” actually meant three. For some reason he’d thought Zayn was bluffing about the whole waiting thing. And then Zayn had kissed him in the middle of the sidewalk and tugged at Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth and he forgot to complain anymore.

Niall sees Harry out his own front door with yelled reminders of being careful and respecting his body and every other cliché term he can manage until Harry is laughing as he goes out the lobby of the building just in time for the blowjob guy to ask Harry if he’s interested.

-

Harry gets lost in Zayn’s building two times before finding his door on the top floor. It’s already half cracked open so Harry pushes it open the rest of the way, stepping inside.

“Hi,” he calls out. “Zayn?”

“Kitchen,” Zayn yells back and Harry shuts the door behind himself. He tries not to be a creep as he glances around Zayn’s front room but he’s always been curious on the verge of nosy.

He notices the four retro style superhero paintings over the TV and a fluffy red throw on the couch are the only splashes of color in his otherwise immaculate chrome, steel and black décor. It’s a lot different from Harry’s small mess of odds and ends he’s collected and kept but he likes Zayn’s design all the same. He thinks the obnoxious green lamp next to his couch would clash perfectly right near Zayn’s couch and it makes him smile, before he realizes just how far ahead of himself he’s gotten.

He follows the clattering noises to the kitchen where Zayn is stirring a pot on the stove and shutting the oven door with his back to Harry.

“Hi, sorry,” he says over his shoulder as soon as Harry comes in. The rich smell of whatever he’s cooking makes Harry’s mouth water. “Really overestimated my cooking skills, I think.”

He wipes his hands on a towel before crossing the kitchen to Harry. He slides a hand around his waist, kissing him in just the way that feels like home.

“You cooked?” Harry asks when Zayn steps away to go back to the stove, his lips buzzing with the sensation of Zayn’s lingering.

“I love cooking actually, I’m just shit at it compared to my mom. Trying to get better.” He grins at Harry, pulling open the door to the oven and setting the pan he pulls out on top of the cooling rack.

“I’m impressed, Zayn.” Harry slides his hands into his pockets looking around at the kitchen and the ingredients strung on every countertop.

“Good, I was hoping you might be.” He laughs before telling Harry to pick out a bottle of wine for them. Harry opts for a red, foregoing a sugar sweet pink moscato until a later date.

He pours them glasses as Zayn gets out two plates and tells Harry about the last couple of days. Besides Zayn wanting Harry to drive himself mad waiting to see him again, Zayn also flew to LA with his dad to check out the possibility of expanding the stores to the west coast.

Harry makes fun of him about his fear of flying until Zayn cuts him off putting a spoonful of some sort of sauce in his mouth instead.

“What the hell is that?” Harry asks swallowing and trying to get more as Zayn puts the spoon in the sink.

“Secret,” he says smugly. He yelps when Harry grabs him and presses him back against to the curve of the countertop with his hip. He runs his lips along his jaw and under his ear whispering about how good he is at getting secrets out of people.

“Sure you are,” Zayn laughs and bites Harry’s neck back effectively making him let him up from the counter but not before Harry’s eyes go dark.

Zayn meticulously puts the food on two plates, arranging everything like he’s in a restaurant. Harry finds it oddly endearing, the way he focuses so hard on it.

“I have to do this so if it tastes like shit, at least it looked good,” he says, noticing Harry’s smirk.

“That is,” Harry considers for a moment before nodding, “Yep, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard someone say before I eat their food.”

Zayn throws him a look finishing the last plate and picking them both up. He gets Harry to grab the wine and the glasses before leading him back across the apartment.

“Where are we going?”

“Balcony.” Zayn slides the back door with his hip opening on to his huge balcony. The kind of balcony that doesn’t exist in New York City or not, at least, anywhere Harry has been.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes stepping outside. He slides the door back with his own hip looking out over the city. He can see the sun setting beyond the top of the skyline.

“I don’t think I learned to truly appreciate a sunset until I moved in here,” Zayn says following Harry’s gaze.

It strikes Harry how he can’t remember the last time he saw a sunset. Or a sunrise for that matter. He’s never thought about the city being claustrophobic with people pressed together as tightly as the buildings. But, he thinks, maybe up here in the clouds with Zayn is where he belongs.  
“Are you planning to stand there all night?” Harry follows Zayn’s voice over to his left.

“No, sorry.” Zayn’s sitting on a blue blanket with their plates sat in the center of it.

“Mile high picnic?” Harry asks walking closer.

“Not quite a mile, no,” Zayn laughs.

The way Zayn smiles up at him when Harry reaches the edge of the blanket, eyes reflecting the colors setting over the city and tongue pressed behind his teeth is a picture Harry wants to keep. A moment he would paint or photograph—if he could make more than a stick figure or if he was a little more than an amateur photographer at best.

He settles on, “You’re beautiful,” instead which makes Zayn shake his head and his cheeks flush. Harry settles on the blanket next to him, careful to not dump the wine everywhere as he does.

It turns out the meticulous design of Zayn’s food is nothing compared to the actual taste. He laughs every time Harry tries something new and goes off on monologues about just how good it is.

“Are you puling my leg? I’m about to add “sous chef” to my LinkedIn.”

“I wouldn’t—Zayn, it’s really good.” Harry says as seriously as he can while licking more of the same sauce from earlier off his hand.

“I called my mom at least three times while I was making everything. When you meet her, you’ll literally die over her food. Unbelievable.”

When. Harry likes the sound of it. He’ll only have Gemma to introduce to Zayn and it will probably be over Skype but maybe she can wow him with some of her finance talk. He smiles at the thought, though Zayn raises an eyebrow at him when he does.

“Just thinkin’,” Harry says setting his near empty plate down and going for the wine.

“About?” Zayn reaches over to wipe something from the corner of Harry’s mouth with his thumb.

“Just this, really. It’s weird how it all happened, I guess.”

Zayn nods and takes a drink of the wine in his glass. “I’m really glad I met you, though, babe. Even when it was just online or whatever, you’ve been my escape these past few months when everything felt like it was too much. When every plan I made went wrong.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry grins. “Although, I bitched to you _about_ you so that is a little unfortunate.

“That’s true, I should probably be offended.” Zayn stacks the plates up and sets them off the blanket as Harry refills their glasses and laughs with him.

They sit cross legged facing each other as they make their way through the bottle talking about everything they can think of. Zayn telling Harry how he used to talk to turtles at pet stores because he thought they were the Ninja Turtles and how badly he wants to get a cat still. Harry laughing over stories about his mom and his failed foray into writing.

“I just thought it was what I was supposed to do,” he shrugs and takes a sip of his wine, “Like, when one door closes you write a bestselling novel instead, obviously.”

Zayn traces patterns over a rip in Harry’s jeans, “Or you turn away from the closed door and find a bunch of new ones you want to open that are like the old door but a little different.”

“Oh, you mean joining up with the competition?” Harry smirks at him.

Zayn bites his lip and looks away when he starts to laugh, “Maybe.”

“You know I don’t hold it against you, right?” Harry sets his glass down to take Zayn’s hand and hold it in his lap. “I know we talked about it a bit but I just want you to know I like you for being you, whether or not we have business conflicts or whatever.”

“I only like you because you dress up like a prince on Saturdays and your jeans fit you really, really, well, but, yeah, sure.”

Zayn ducks away when Harry tries to swat  him before they’re both laughing and trying to hit at each other.

Harry talks about Niall and Zayn tells him about his best friend, Louis, who Harry has yet to meet. Zayn says Louis is a bit of a loose cannon but he could actually see him and Niall getting on well. They compare favorite books and movies and Harry recites every superhero fact he can remember until Zayn puts a hand over his mouth to make him shut up shaking his head and laughing.

“You have the prettiest lips,” Zayn says when Harry finishes off with Clark Kent’s home planet’s name (Krypton).

He’s loosened his grip to drag just two of his fingers along Harry’s mouth, his lips parting and Zayn’s eyes studying his movement.

“Thought they were pretty ordinary, really,” Harry says but he doesn’t move away as Zayn’s fingers keep tracing.

When Zayn pauses and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, Harry can’t take it and breaks the moment by twisting his head to bite Zayn’s fingers lightly. The pressure only makes Zayn’s eyes go a little droopy, beautifully framed by his dark eyelashes. Zayn pulls his hand from Harry’s lips slowly. He glances at his watch and then behind him.

“Oh, this is perfect timing.” Zayn moves faster than Harry’s ever seen him darting to the edge of the balcony, “Come here, babe.”

Harry ambles over towards him, walking a bit like a baby deer after his legs have fallen asleep underneath him.

Zayn grabs his hand when he gets the edge of the balcony.

“Okay, this is going to, simultaneously, be the creepiest and best thing ever.”

“You’re a secret killer, aren’t you?”

“Yeah but that’s not what I’m showing you,” Zayn smirks. “Look over at that building,” he points to the one right across from them. He glances over as Harry squints looking for a sign or a stranded animal or something. “Top left window, you see it?”

Harry nods, “Yeah.” He looks over at Zayn in time to see him grin again, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Look, look, look.”

Harry drags his eyes away from studying Zayn’s cheekbones and back to the window, biting the inside of his lip as he tries to see what’s going on. He gets it when he sees two figures spinning slowly in the center of the room, salt and pepper hair languidly rocking back and forth. The light of their apartment bright against the darkening night, framed like a picture.

“Are they dancing?”

“Every Saturday night,” Zayn says without taking his eyes away. “I don’t watch all the time, not usually. I just started to notice it was always at the same time so sometimes I’m a total creep and watch for a minute.”

“It’s romantic.” Harry means it, too. If he had something besides blowjob man and the fighting girls next door he would watch strangers in love dance too.

Zayn makes a quiet noise of agreement as they watch in silence, the couple dancing to music only they can hear. Harry’s eyes wander to other windows, glimpses at random people and he wonders if anyone can see him and Zayn. If anyone can tell he’s falling hard for the guy next to him.

“So,” Harry clears his throat after a bit, “This is the kind of first date you usually plan?”

“Not exactly,” Zayn laughs. “Usually I’m more nervous about whoever is going with me thinking I’m weird.”

“I do think you’re weird, though.” Harry laughs when Zayn glares at him, “Only because most people don’t necessarily understand me but you do. Makes you weird.”

“I get you,” Zayn nods, “What’s that quote about finding someone’s whose weirdness aligns with yours or something? You know it?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles slowly and looks away. He’s pretty sure that quote ends with something about holding on to the person who is just as weird as you are, and he plans to.

“I’m also selfish,” Zayn says pulling Harry away from his thoughts. “We could have gone out to dinner but I didn’t want to share you with the whole city. Not tonight, at least.”

Harry swallows, studying the lines of the brick and then looking at Zayn, “I don’t want to share you either.”

Zayn looks away from him but Harry catches his smile.

“Oh, shit, fuck, I almost forgot.”

Harry jumps when Zayn moves suddenly again, tugging Harry’s hand in his. He takes him back through to his front room and pushes Harry down to the corner of the couch.

“What’s happening now?” Harry laughs pulling a pillow out from under his ass and tossing it to the other side.

“I made you something and then I forgot about it.” Zayn grabs a canvas from behind the TV stand. He holds it facing towards himself as Harry leans to try to see what it is.

“Okay,” he says slowly righting himself again.

“And, it’s not the best thing but I thought you might like it and—“

“Stop it,” Harry laughs, “You’re making me nervous.”

“Of course I am,” Zayn rolls his eyes and flips the canvas around unceremoniously.

The smile slips of off Harry’s face as his eyes focus on the painting, smooth blues and yellows, intricate text and figures—a replica of the sign his mom had painted on the front window of Cheshire Cat Books all those years ago. The one sure to be scraped away by the time a new store will be installed in the space.

“Is it—are you okay?” Zayn takes a step closer, the canvas moving a little lower.

“Yeah, no, no,” Harry stands up and reaches to take it in his own hands studying it, “It’s just—I never thought to have someone paint it again and the fact you did it,” he shakes his head. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“I wasn’t sure about it. I didn’t know your mom but I wanted to try,” Zayn shrugs, “I know the last few months have been especially hard for you.”

Harry sets the painting down on the coffee table, eyes lingering over it for one more moment. He closes the space between them, sliding his hand gently around the side of Zayn’s neck, using his thumb to angle his face up just slightly, “I am so lucky that I met you. Nyaz 112 could have been anyone and I still can’t believe it was you.”

Zayn smiles slowly, fingertips dancing along the soft parts of Harry’s hips as Harry leans forward to press their mouths together.

“I’m a catch, I know,” Zayn says against his lips and Harry feels his smile even though his eyes are closed.

He means to go slow but Zayn fists his hands in the bottom of Harry’s shirt to hold him closer and he loses the slow part completely. Zayn bites at his bottom lip until Harry’s mouth falls open more and Zayn’s tongue can lick inside. He let’s out a sound like when Harry was trying that sauce in the kitchen, like Harry’s mouth tastes just as good. Zayn moves his head to drag his teeth along Harry’s jaw, reaching up to fist his hair and pull it away from his neck as his lips trace down the column of it, biting at the skin when Harry’s breath comes out in a low whine.

Harry pulls his face back up to press their lips together again, once, twice, feeling like he can’t get enough of the taste from Zayn’s mouth, hands pressing just under the hem of his shirt.

“This,” Zayn pulls back to rest his forehead against Harry’s, their breath mixing together as they try to regain control, “This is where the first date would have stopped with somebody I had just met.”

Harry senses there’s more, “But?”

“But I didn’t just meet you and you’re not just somebody,” he says and before he even gets the words out fully, Harry’s kissing him again, pushing his hands under his shirts and resting his thumbs on his hip bones.

“Do you want a tour of my place?” Zayn asks against Harry’s skin a moment later, tracing the pulse point against his neck.

“Does it end in your bed?” Harry asks tilting his head to the side so Zayn has more access.

There’s a moment of quiet when everything moves in slow motion and Harry wants to grab the words and put them back in his mouth. Just because they didn’t just meet and just because he isn’t just anyone doesn’t mean he can invite himself to Zayn’s bed.

He swallows when Zayn pulls his head away from Harry’s neck and looks at him. He blinks slowly, eyelashes dancing on his cheekbones and smirking slowly.

“You already know it does, babe.” His voice has a rasp to it as he swallows, “If that’s what you want.”

Harry nods quickly, his hair flying as he presses against Zayn, kissing along his jaw. He drops his head back when Zayn drags his hand over the front of his jeans, putting delicious pressure against his half hard cock.

“Oh my, fuck.” He grabs onto Zayn’s shoulders when he grinds his palm down against him.

“Come on, then,” Zayn smirks, taking his hand back and kissing Harry’s wrist resting on his shoulder. He turns to go down the hallway and Harry is quick to follow. He adjusts his pants as he goes, doing a little hop and grinning sheepishly when Zayn turns around and watches him, lip caught under his teeth.

Harry pauses in the hallway to look at the frames all along it. The set nearest him are all scenes comprised completely of comic books cut and glues together. He touches one and realizes he’s touched just about everything he’s seen in Zayn’s house so far.

“Harry,” Zayn stomps his foot from further down the hall and Harry looks over, pulling his bottom lip between his fingers.

“Actually,” Zayn strides over to him pressing him against the wall next to the frames with his hands on the front of his hips, “One second.”

Zayn drags his lips, feather light, down Harry’s neck, moving his fingers up until they splay against his ribs. He squeezes him lightly when he gets to his collarbone, pressure in his thumbs as he sucks a mark in the soft spot just under his neck. The sound Harry makes as Zayn bites his reddened skin echoes in the hallway as his head knocks back against the wall.

Zayn drags his thumbs over Harry’s nipples through his shirt making his hips jolt forward. He feels when Zayn smiles against his chest before unbuttoning the rest of Harry’s shirt, his lips following as the fabric slips open. He tongues over Harry’s nipples again, running his fingers over them, smiling each time he pulls a better, louder reaction from him. He presses a kiss to the butterfly in the middle of his stomach and Harry watches his gaze trace the ink on the rest of his chest, running his fingers over the laurels on his hips and dipping under the waistband of his jeans.

“Okay, come on, now,” Zayn says when he’s satisfied, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling him further down the hallway. Harry extricates his hand to tug off his shirt the rest of the way dropping it somewhere in the hallway and trying to remember how to catch his breath.

They pass by another room with walls covered in graffiti and half-finished canvases Harry plans to explore when his cock isn’t aching in his pants. Zayn’s room, he finds, is as clean and sleek as the rest of his house, with floor to ceiling windows that look out over the city along the far wall. In the darkness, the lights from the cars far below and the buildings in front of him look almost like constellations. Harry walks over to the window and presses his fingers against the glass, feeling the low swoop in his stomach at the lack of physical walls.

“Cool, huh?” Zayn asks coming behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist, nudging his chin on Harry’s shoulder. Harry nods tipping his head back when Zayn’s fingers dance up his front to brush along his chest and pull at his nipples again.

“You like that, don’t you?” Zayn turns his head to lick along Harry’s neck, probably getting a mouthful of hair, not that Harry can be bothered, his hips pressing forward against the window. Zayn pulls a low moan out of him when he twists Harry around until his back is against the window, kissing him as his hands slide behind him and over his ass, squeezing against the denim.

“This is the best apartment I’ve ever seen,” Harry says against Zayn’s neck, licking the dip at the base of it, “But I’m kind of done with the house tour.”

Zayn opens his mouth to speak when Harry looks at him but then Harry’s lips muffle whatever it is he wanted to say. He makes quick work of Zayn’s shirt, tugging it up over his head and walking him back towards the bed. Zayn falls back on it with his lips bitten red as Harry looks at his ink for a change. He stands above him and runs his fingertips up his arms, eyes pulling slowly down over the angel wings and lipstick stain, the heart on his hip and writing reminiscent of one of Harry’s old tattoos, inked playing cards and a gun.

“Are you going to touch or are you going to look?” Zayn finally says after lying still under Harry’s gaze.

“You’re a piece of art, babe,” Harry says with a smirk. Zayn rolls his eyes moving up the bed as Harry crawls up after him. Zayn makes room for him between his legs and Harry shifts down to grind their hips together. “So goddamn pretty,” he whispers against Zayn’s lips then biting at his jaw and moving to his ear.

He flicks his tongue against the cool metal of his earrings, his hand ghosting up and down Zayn’s sides. Harry moves to his neck and Zayn tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair, head falling back against the pillows as his neck curves back. Harry sucks an equal mark to the one Zayn has left on him, grinning when Zayn makes the same breathless sounds.

He nips down across his chest, tracing some of the ink with his tongue and creating new marks of his own as he goes down. He tugs at the button on Zayn’s jeans, looking up at him in question before he undoes them fully.

“Don’t stop now,” Zayn sounds amused as he says it and Harry tries to glare at him, although he’s been told he just looks like an angry cat when he does that.

He twists the button open, nosing across the newly exposed skin before he tugs them off. He bites at the ink Zayn has on his leg and then mouths, hot and wet, over the front his red briefs. The contact of his tongue through the fabric makes Zayn hiss as he pushes his hips up towards his face. Harry hooks his thumbs in the top band leaning back to pull them off slowly, making Zayn squirm when his eyes stays on his cock, thick, already hard and angry pink, pressing up against his hip.

“You look like a wolf, babe,” Zayn laughs but he’s got his own hands in his hair and he sounds out of breath so Harry’s pretty sure he’s winning, if taking Zayn apart was any sort of game.

Zayn sits up and scoots down the bed, to grapple with Harry’s jeans.

“Off, off, off,” he punctuates each demand with a kiss against Harry’s stomach. Tracing the wing of his butterfly with his tongue as Harry tugs his jeans down and kicks off his booths simultaneously.

“Wanna see you,” Zayn murmurs kissing his hip before pushing his briefs down his thighs. Harry pulls them down the rest of the way as Zayn drags his nails over the tattoo on his thigh. He groans when Zayn grabs for his cock and pumps his hand against him.

“Pretty,” he says and licks the tip of Harry’s dick slowly, catching wetness on his tongue. It makes one of Harry’s knees jolt under him and he catches himself on Zayn’s shoulder.

“You’re something else,” he laughs and climbs into Zayn’s lap, knees on either side his legs, ass resting back on his thighs. He’s never had it like this, been with someone who can be just like him in bed, as strong but as soft too.

Harry kisses him and grinds down at the same time Zayn lifts his hips up, the way their cocks press together making them both gasp against each other’s lips. Zayn pushes Harry’s hair back from his face and kisses his nose and his eyes before his lips again, sucking hard on his bottom lip and making Harry’s hips press forward as he groans.

Zayn pulls at both of Harry’s nipples at once and the way he stares up to watch Harry’s reaction when he does it makes something hot curl in Harry’s belly. He grabs Zayn’s hands pressing them behind his back just slightly as he grinds down on him again and revels in the way Zayn’s head tips back, a smile playing at his lips, chest rising quickly against Harry’s

“I don’t know what game we’re playing,” Zayn wrestles his hands away from Harry’s hips and pull him down, leaving imprints with his fingernails, “But I fucking love it.”

Harry kisses the corner of Zayn’s mouth with another grin. He grips Zayn’s cock between their bodies and drags his hand up, thumbing over the head, watching Zayn’s reaction carefully.

“Can I,” Harry licks his lips looking down at Zayn, still moving his hand, “I want to fuck you. Please.”

“By all means, babe,” Zayn reaches to cup Harry’s jaw. “I want you to.” He drops his hand between them, wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock, eyes going heavy over the way Harry whines, his own eyes fluttering.

“Where’s your stuff?” Harry focuses on each word, as Zayn spreads the wetness from his cock with his thumb.

“Over there,” Zayn nods to the far side of the room.

“That’s inconvenient,” he grumbles with a kiss to Zayn’s lips, climbing off the bed.

He opens the top drawer of Zayn’s dresser for a condom and the bottle of lube.

“Mm, but I get to see your ass, so.” Zayn says from the bed propped up on his elbows and Harry laughs. As if he’s bad to look at either. He does a twirl on his way back to the bed, making Zayn drop his head back laughing again.

Harry crawls back on top of him, kissing him until he’s sure he’s left a mark, their lips slick against each other. He smirks as he moves back down his body, Zayn’s hands in his hair pushing him along gently.

Harry slides his mouth around the head of Zayn’s cock, circling the tip with his tongue before moving to take Zayn’s entire length in his mouth, reveling in the full feeling against his tongue, the wet weight. He feels one of Zayn’s legs twitch under him as he bobs his head, tightens his lips. He drags his fingernails up the outsides of Zayn’s legs, grabbing for the bottle he set by his hip.

He pulls off of Zayn with a pop to grab his calf, bending his leg at the knee so his foot is flat on the bed and biting at the inside of his thigh. He dribbles the lube on his fingers then licks up Zayn’s cock as he draws a circle around the rim of his hole with a wet finger, pushing in just slightly.

Zayn pulls his other foot up onto the bed adjusting his hips to give Harry more room as he slides his finger in fully. Zayn pets back his hair, whispered moans and more enunciated groans filtering out as Harry slides a second finger around the first. He fucks his fingers in and out, tracing unknown patterns up and down Zayn’s cock, catching the dribbles of precome on his tongue. He twists his wrist to press on Zayn’s deepest spot, pressing his nose down against Zayn’s hips when he presses up with a garbled moan.

“Yeah?” Harry lifts his head up to ask, his own cock starting to ache between his legs. Zayn nods, hips pushing down towards Harry.

Harry goes back down between his legs, intertwining his tongue with his fingers and categorizing each moan in his head until he’s being pulled up by his hair again looking at Zayn with a dopey smile. He looks as debauched as Harry feels, cheeks red, hair pointing in every direction.

“Hi,” Harry says still rolling his fingers inside of Zayn. He watches the pleasure dance across his face as he does.

“Hi, babe.” Zayn says through clenched teeth.

“You good?” Harry asks when Zayn’s eyes fall closed and he nods quickly.

Harry pulls his hand out to grab for the condom, rolling it on and dripping lube on him. He lines himself up and traces circles against the thick muscle with the head of his cock before he can’t take it anymore and starts to push in. Zayn’s gripping the sheet under him and Harry grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers as he presses. Their sounds mirror each other as Harry pushes in fully, both biting their lips without breaking eye contact.

“Move, babe, move,” Zayn says, letting go of Harry’s fingers to grab his ass in his hands and pushing him.

Harry nods as he snaps his hips forward, slowly at first and picking up speed at Zayn’s pushing and filthy words. Harry catches himself on his hands by Zayn’s shoulders to kiss him sloppily, twisting their tongues until they’re more breathing against each other than anything.

“That’s it, love, that’s it,” Zayn grits out when Harry shifts a bit and his hips tweak up. Harry drags his fingernails down Zayn’s chest and to his stomach, grabbing his cock in his hand between them and tugging with the same rhythm of his hips.

“Shit,” Harry hangs his head forward feeling Zayn’s fingertips digging into his lower back.

“You gonna come in me, babe?” Zayn drops his hand from Harry’s hip to grab his chin and make Harry look at him. Whatever Harry wants to say comes out in an incoherent smatter of words, more focused on moving in tight circles, the white heat of Zayn pulling him in. He twists his hand against Zayn’s cock, a sudden competition to make him come first.

Zayn must know what he’s doing, pulling up on his elbows as he throws his head back.

“You gonna come for _me_?” Harry repeats back to him, positioning his knees for leverage as Zayn bites at his own lips and looks on the verge of losing it.

Zayn sits up more fully now, using one hand to grab Harry’s hair in a deep tug and the other to grab at his ass. He drops his hand to pull at Harry’s thigh, spreading his legs slightly with still enough room for him to move inside Zayn.

Harry knows what he’s doing before he does it, nearly falling apart in anticipation.

Zayn pushes a finger against Harry’s hole, making him grip Zayn’s cock tighter in his hand as his hips stutter and he make more babbled noise.

“You like that?” Zayn says against his neck now, brushing the tip of his finger, dry, against Harry again and again, pushing in only slightly. Zayn bites Harry’s neck, groaning against his skin while he uses his finger to takes Harry to pieces.

It’s suddenly all too much when Harry closes his eyes. He swears he sees red, oranges and yellows as brilliant as the sunset, Zayn’s whispered words against his skin sounding like a promise they’ll keep.

Harry can’t figure out who actually comes first as they both get louder, sweat slick between them when they fall apart, grabbing at each other and pressing open mouthed kisses against salty skin.

“Shit,” Zayn lays back under Harry as Harry rocks his hips to a stop. He makes a noise when Zayn slaps his ass before pulling out of him slowly and kissing Zayn when he winces just slightly.

This guy who was all but a figment of his imagination, an enemy and the hottest person he’d ever seen all at once, and now he’s his.

Harry grabs his face with both hands, holding him against the pillow as he tries to memorize his mouth with his tongue both of them trying to catch their breath in each other’s mouths.

Zayn’s the one who ends up going to get a towel for them as Harry throws the condom away and pulls his hair into a bun.

They collapse back on the bed limbs intertwined as Harry traces Zayn’s tattoos and they mumble quietly against each other’s skin.

Sometime later Harry gets off of the bed to heat up leftovers and balance plates on his arms as he brings them back to Zayn’s room. Zayn laughs when he sees Harry, his lips curled in his mouth, intensely focused on not spilling.

They end up sitting on the ground in front of one of the big windows in Zayn’s room in various states of undress with the duvet wrapped around them feeding each other.

“About what you said earlier,” Zayn says as he swallows over a bite, “About how you could have been anyone on the other side of BookCat94. I didn’t really plan to be crazy about whoever it was. And then, well, it was you and I knew I was so screwed.”

“I’m a catch, I know,” Harry echoes Zayn’s line from earlier as he rolls his eyes.

“My catch,” Zayn says wiggling his eyebrows and adjusting Harry’s too long legs intertwined with his.

“Yeah, yeah, something like that,” Harry says leaning to kiss him, sweet and slow.

Harry rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder his eyes drooping when Zayn starts to play with his hair. The last thing he sees before he drops off is the sun breaking through above the horizon of the city, soft yellows and oranges lighting up the sky.

There are just some plans life doesn’t account for, this Harry knows. But wrapped in Zayn, he can’t imagine _he’s_ one of them. No, he’s one of those destiny kind of plans, the one's life is determined to make work.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on [tumblr](http://www.daisyharry.tumblr.com), if you want! :)


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